A   RENEGADE 

AND  OTHER  TALES 


A  RENEGADE 


AND  OTHER  TALES 


BY 

MARTHA  WOLFENSTEIN 
Author  of  "Idyls  of  the  Gass  " 


PHILADELPHIA 

THE  JEWISH  PUBLICATION  SOCIETY  OF  AMERICA 
1905 


COPYRIGHT,   1905, 

BY 
THE  JEWISH  PUBLICATION  SOCIETY  OF  AMERICA 

ALL  RIGHTS  RESERVED 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

THE  JEWISH  PUBLICATION  SOCIETY  OF 
AMERICA  acknowledges  its  indebtedness  to  the 
publishers  of  the  following  periodical  publica 
tions,  who  have  permitted  the  use  of  copy 
righted  matter : — 

THE  AMERICAN  ISRAELITE  for  The  Beast. 

JEWISH  COMMENT  for  A  Goy  in  the  Good 
Place,  and  Nittel-Nacht. 

THE  OUTLOOK  for  A  Renegade. 

LIPPINCOTT'S  MONTHLY  MAGAZINE  for  A 
Monk  from  the  Ghetto,  Dovid  and  Reset 
(which  appeared  there  under  the  name,  An 
Idyl  of  the  Gass),  A  Judgment  of  Solomon, 
and  A  Sinner  in  Israel. 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

I.    A  RENEGADE    9 

II.    DOVID  AND  RESEL 45 

III.  LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 75 

IV.  A  SINNER  IN  ISRAEL 105 

V.     NITTEL-NACHT    131 

VI.    A  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON 151 

VII.    A  GOY  IN  THE  GOOD  PLACE 161 

VIII.    GENENDEL  THE  Pious 183 

IX.    A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 203 

X.    GRANDMOTHER  SPEAKS  :    CHAYAH 231 

XI.    GRANDMOTHER  SPEAKS:    OUR  FRIEND 259 

XII.    BABETTE     287 

XIII.    THE  BEAST    307 


64 


I 

A  RENEGADE 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 


A  RENEGADE 

Schneider,  Schneider, 
Meek,  Meek,  Meek. 

The  quiet  village  street  echoed  with  this 
taunting  cry.  The  shouters  were  half- 
grown  boys,  running  in  pursuit  of  a  taller 
one,  who  fled  before  them,  casting  strange 
ly  terrified  looks  behind.  At  the  corner  of 
the  street  leading  into  the  Jews'  quarter, 
he  ran  full  against  a  short,  fat  boy,  bound 
ing  back  as  though  he  had  collided  with  a 
rubber  cushion,  and  in  a  moment  his 
pursuers  were  upon  him. 

"Come    on,   let's   fight   'em,    Peretz!" 

cried  the  shorter  boy.     The  other  glared 

for  a  moment  at  his  tormentors,  breathed 

hard,    clenched    his    fists,    then    suddenly 

11 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

grasped  his  companion  by  the  arm,  and, 
dragging  him  along,  ran  down  the  Jews' 
quarter  into  the  open  door-way  of  the 
synagogue  yard.  He  quickly  slammed  the 
gate  and  bolted  it.  The  two  boys  stood 
panting  and  glaring  at  each  other.  "  They 
are  right,"  burst  forth  the  shorter,  "  they 
are  right  that  they  call  us  Jews  cowards! 
Why  didst  not  fight  'em?  " 

For  answer  Peretz  lunged  forward, 
grasped  his  companion  by  the  shirt  and  the 
belt  of  his  trousers,  tossed  him  up  above  his 
head,  shook  him  as  a  dog  would  a  cat,  and 
then  gently  laid  him  on  the  ground  at  his 
feet.  The  boy — his  name  was  Jacob, 
euphoniously  called  Yaikew  in  the  Ghetto 
— lay  for  a  moment  as  if  stunned. 

"  What  kind  of  craziness  is  this?  "  de 
manded  he,  hotly,  scrambling  to  his  feet. 
"  Thou  needst  not  show  me  what  a  strong 
man  thou  art." 

"Dost  still  think  I  was  afraid?"  cried 
the  other,  passionately.  Then  he  turned 
12 


A  RENEGADE 


suddenly  away  and  hid  his  face  against  the 
wall.  Yaikew  looked  in  amazement  and 
saw  that  he  was  trembling. 

"What  ails  thee,  Peretz?"  he  asked 
more  gently.  "  Has  anybody  done  thee 
a  harm?  " 

"  It  is  always  so;  the  people  all  think  I'm 
a  coward,"  was  the  tremulous  reply. 

Yaikew  shrugged  his  shoulders,  and  re 
turned  with  a  sage  air:  "  What  should  they 
think?" 

Peretz  cast  a  cautious  glance  around, 
and  drew  from  his  bosom  an  old,  torn 
book. 

"  See,"  said  he,  holding  it  fondly,  "  this 
is  why  I  don't  fight." 

"  What  is  that?  What  dost  thou  mean?  " 
questioned  Yaikew. 

"  If  I  fight,  might  they  not  tear  my 
shirt  and  find  it?  " 

"What,"  cried  Yaikew,  "for  an  old, 
torn  book  thou  lettest  them  torment 
thee!" 

13 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

He  took  it  in  his  hands,  turned  its 
yellow  pages  wonderingly,  and  finally 
added : 

"What  is  this,  anyhow?  It  isn't  He 
brew." 

"  It's  Greek/'  whispered  Peretz. 

"Greek,"  echoed  Yaikew.  "Where 
didst  thou  get  it?" 

"  Sh— sh,"  warned  the  other,  in  fright. 
"  The  schoolmaster  who  lived  at  the  mill 
last  summer  gave  it  to  me,  for  blacking  his 
boots  and  carrying  water.  In  the  even 
ings  I  taught  him  to  read  out  of  the  Pen 
tateuch,  and  he  taught  me  out  of  this — the 
Iliad." 

"  Ili-ahd,"  mimicked  Yaikew,  smiling. 
"There  must  be  fine  things  written  in 
this  book  that  thou  wearest  it  in  thy  bo 
som." 

"  God  forgive  me  the  sin,"  cried  Peretz, 

"  but  there  is  naught  so  beautiful  in  all 

our  holy  tongue  as  is  written  in  this  little 

book.     I  could  not  live  without  it.     Wai ! 

14 


A  RENEGADE 


my  master  would  burn  it  in  a  minute,  and 
my  mother,  Yaikew — she  is  very  pious.  It 
would  grieve  her  that  I  read  profane 
books,"  and  he  laid  the  volume  carefully 
within  his  open  shirt,  and  pressed  his  hands 
lovingly  upon  it. 

Peretz  was  fifteen  years  old,  and  for  the 
last  two  years  apprenticed  to  the  village 
tailor.  His  widowed  mother,  the  poorest 
woman  in  the  Gass  [Jews'  Street],  picked 
up  a  scanty  living  at  any  odd  work  that  she 
could  find.  She  had  sent  him  to  the  Ghet 
to  school  until  he  was  Bar-Mitzwah  (at  the 
age  of  thirteen). 

"  'Tis  time  that  he  begin  to  earn  some 
thing,  and  he  has  no  head  for  learning/' 
decided  the  old  teacher,  for  Peretz 
dreamed  idly  over  the  fine,  logical  intri 
cacies  of  the  Talmud  text. 

The  great  dry-goods  merchant  of  the 
Gass  took  him  into  his  store  to  teach  him 
the  business,  but  in  a  month  Reb  Noach 
15 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

sent  him  home  with  the  message :  "  Tell 
thy  mother  thou  art  as  fit  for  business  as 
I  am  for  a  tight-rope  walker."  As  Reb 
Noach  had  a  club  foot,  and  weighed  some 
two  hundred  pounds,  this  likeness  was  fully 
convincing. 

Although  Peretz  had  been  with  his  mas 
ter,  the  tailor,  almost  two  years,  he  had  as 
yet  learned  little  of  the  craft.  His  princi 
pal  occupation  was  that  of  minding  the 
children  and  doing  chores,  for  which  select 
service  he  received  no  wages. 

With  his  lank  limbs  protruding  from 
his  ragged  clothes,  an  old  rimless  cap 
pressed  upon  his  black,  curling  hair,  his 
pallid  face  and  black  eyes  red-rimmed  with 
nightly  reading,  he  was  the  butt  and  jest 
of  all  mischievous  boys.  The  little  cowards 
took  particular  delight  in  tormenting  him 
as  soon  as  they  discovered  that  he  would 
not  fight. 

The  very  next  day  after  the  incident  re 
lated,  Peretz's  master  sent  him  to  deliver 

16 


A  RENEGADE 


a  coat  to  Count  Reichenberg,  whose  estate 
was  an  hour's  walk  from  the  village.  Pe- 
retz  went  along  reciting  parts  of  his  be 
loved  Iliad  to  himself.  His  memory  failing 
him  at  a  certain  passage,  he  sat  down  and 
looked  up  the  verse.  It  was  beautiful.  So 
was  the  next  and  the  following  one,  and  in 
the  combat  of  Hector  and  Ajax  he  forgot 
his  errand,  his  wretched  life,  and  the  whole 
world  about  him.  Noticing  presently  that 
the  lines  in  his  book  were  growing  dim,  he 
looked  up  and  saw  to  his  dismay  that  it  was 
evening.  He  remembered  that  his  master 
had  particularly  urged  him  to  hasten,  as 
the  coat  was  for  a  fancy-dress  ball  which 
the  Count  was  to  give  that  evening,  and 
the  tailor  had  taken  great  pride  in  freshen 
ing  it  up  for  the  occasion.  Peretz  snatched 
up  his  parcel  and  ran  at  the  top  of  his 
speed. 

Lamps  were  already  twinkling  on  the 
lawn  when,  frightened  and  panting,  he  ar 
rived  at  the  palace.     He  delivered  the  par- 
17 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

eel,  and  was  about  to  steal  away,  when  a 
valet  appeared  and  ordered  Peretz  to  fol 
low  him,  as  the  Count  wished  to  see  the 
messenger. 

Peretz  followed.  Pale  with  fright,  he 
appeared  in  the  door-way  of  the  Count's 
dressing-room. 

"  Thou  damned  rascally  scoundrel !  " 
roared  the  Count,  a  thick-set  man,  with  a 
round  face,  now  red  with  rage.  "  I  have 
a  mind  to  have  thee  flogged,  thee  and  thy 
master  together.  What  does  the  man 
mean  by  keeping  me  waiting?  Tell  thy 
master  that  I'll  have  him  run  out  of  the 
village.  I'll  ruin  his  trade.  I  won't  pay 
him  a  Kreuzer."  Peretz  trembled  at  sight 
of  the  Count's  rage. 

"  It  isn't  my  master's  fault,"  he  stam 
mered.  "  He  sent  me  early  in  the  after 
noon.  I  forgot  myself." 

"  So !  "  cried  the  Count.  "  Loafing  in 
the  tavern !  Pitching  pennies !  What !  " 

Peretz's  pride  was  stung. 
18 


A  RENEGADE 


"  I  was  reading,  your  Highness,"  replied 
he,  quietly. 

"  What !  Reading !  Liar !  What  wast 
thou  reading?  Show  it  to  me?  Where  is 
the  book?" 

Peretz  paled  again.  He  had  betrayed 
his  secret.  He  would  lose  his  beloved 
book,  perhaps  his  place,  and  be  again  a 
care  and  disgrace  to  his  mother.  He  un 
did  his  ragged  shirt,  pulled  out  the  tat 
tered  volume,  and  two  great  tears  welled 
up  under  his  lids  as  he  reluctantly  held  it 
forth  to  the  Count.  The  Count  glanced  at 
the  book,  then  at  Peretz,  and  shook  his 
head  incredulously. 

"  Dost  mean  to  say,  boy,  that  thou  canst 
read  this?  " 

All  trace  of  anger  had  vanished  from  his 
face,  which  now  shone  with  interest  and 
curiosity. 

"  Here,"   continued  he,   "  let  me  hear. 
Read  something,"  and  he  thrust  the  open 
volume  into  the  boy's  hands. 
19 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Peretz  grasped  the  book  joyfully.  Per 
haps  the  Count  would  let  him  keep  it, 
after  all.  He  began  to  read.  Passage  after 
passage  flowed  glibly  from  his  lips. 

The  Count  listened,  his  face  a  mixture 
of  surprise,  incredulity,  and  pleasure 

His  guests  were  surprised  presently  to 
see  him  appear  in  earnest  conversation 
with  a  ragged,  barefooted  Jewish  boy, 
whom  he  shook  by  the  hand  at  parting  as 
if  he  were  his  equal. 

'''  You  seem  to  have  discovered  a  new 
species  of  game,  Count,"  remarked  a  guest, 
laughingly. 

"  Hunting  is  not  my  pet  vice,  Madame," 
returned  the  Count.  "  Am  I  not  known 
as  an  inveterate  collector  of  gems?  You 
may  congratulate  me.  I  have  just  dis 
covered  a  rare  diamond." 

That  same  evening  Schedel  Neuer,  with 
Peretz  beside  her,  stood  within  the  rabbi's 
house,  crying  eagerly: 
20 


A  RENEGADE 


"  Talk  it  out  of  him,  Rebbe  Leben !  He 
wants  to  go  to  Vienna.  The  Count  wants 
to  send  him  to  the  High  School.  Why 
should  he  become  a  wise  man?  Will  that 
bring  money  into  the  house?  If  he  learned 
nothing  out  of  our  dear,  holy  books,  will  he 
learn  out  of  those  without  a  word  of  Yid 
dish  [Hebrew]  in  them?  He  dare  not  go, 
Rebbe  Leben.  We  dare  not  take  it  from  the 
Goy  [Gentile].  There  will  no  good  come 
of  it.  Why  should  he  learn  all  the  wicked 
ness  that  is  written  in  those  books?  Not 
my  father,  peace  be  with  him,  nor  my 
grandfather  could  read  a  word  that  was  not 
written  in  the  Prayer-Book.  They  were 
pious  men,  but  he  has  it  from  his  father. 
God  forgive  me  that  I  must  confess  it." 

The  rabbi,  a  young  man,  who  had  been 
but  two  years  in  the  village,  and  had  what 
the  older  people  called  "  new  notions  in  his 
head,"  at  once  sided  with  Peretz. 

'  You  may  take  my  word  for  it,  Frau 
Neuer,"  said  he,  "  there  is  much  wisdom 
21 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

contained  in  those  books  that  you  so  des 
pise.  It  would  be  better  if  more  in  the 
Gass  would  devote  themselves  to  their 
study." 

But  Schedel  was  firm  in  her  opposition. 

"  There  will  no  good  come  of  it,"  she 
insisted.  "  We  dare  not  take  it  from  the 
Gentile." 

The  younger  folks  sided  with  Peretz. 

"  Wilt  thou  trample  thy  good  fortune 
under  foot?  Times  have  changed,  and  the 
Jew  and  the  Christian  are  now  equal,"  they 
urged.  The  old  people  shook  their  heads 
wisely,  and  sighed : 

"  The  Jew  and  the  Christian  can  never 
agree.  There  will  no  good  come  of  it." 

But  the  outcome  was  that  Peretz  went 
to  Vienna  to  study,  under  the  protection 
of  Count  Reichenberg. 

His  letters  were  full  of  hope  and  happi 
ness;  everything  was  pleasant  and  easy;  he 
was  already  beginning  to  earn  money,  for 
22 


A  RENEGADE 


he  had  formed  a  class  of  factory  men  and 
women  whom  he  was  teaching  to  read  and 
write.  He  sent  his  mother  all  of  his  earn 
ings  that  he  could  spare,  and  begged  her 
not  to  work  so  hard. 

In  two  years  Peretz  was  admitted  to  the 
University,  and  after  this  he  was  able  to 
support  his  mother  in  ease  and  comfort. 

"  Nu,  Schedel,"  said  her  younger  friends, 
"  dost  still  wish  to  have  thy  Peretz  home 
and  minding  the  tailor's  children?  Thou 
livest  at  thine  ease  like  a  countess." 

But  Schedel  looked  up  sadly  from  her 
knitting  and  complained,  "  What  have  I  of 
my  son  when  he  is  in  Vienna  and  I  am 
here?" 

"  Schedel  is  a  discontented  old  grum 
bler,"  they  said  of  her;  but  the  old  people 
sighed,  and  said  sympathetically,  "  She 
has  her  cares." 

One  day  the  neighbors  found  Schedel 
with  a  letter  clasped  tightly  in  her  hand, 
23 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 


lying  as  if  dead  on  the  floor.  They  laid 
her  upon  the  bed,  and  sent  for  old  Dr. 
Pinkus,  but  in  spite  of  all  efforts  she  re 
mained  unconscious.  Then  they  sent  for 
the  rabbi,  who  read  the  letter.  It  was  as 
follows : 

My  beloved  Mother: 

It  near  breaks  my  heart  to  write  this,  for  I  know 
how  it  will  grieve  thee.  Didst  thou  but  know  what 
pain  and  struggle  I  have  gone  through,  thou  wouldst 
pity  and  not  condemn  me.  What  I  am  about  to  do 
must  be,  or  all  my  striving  all  my  life  were  in  vain. 

Mother,  dear,  it  is  only  a  form — an  empty  nothing. 
My  soul  still  clings  to  thee,  to  our  dear  Gass,  to  the 
beloved  friends  at  home.  But  wouldst  thou  that  I 
come  back  and  go  to  work  for  the  tailor  again ;  or  at 
best  earn  a  scanty  living  by  teaching  at  ten  Kreu- 
zers  an  hour?  Shall  I,  like  Dr.  Pinkus,  smother 
my  brain,  my  body,  my  soul,  within  the  Ghetto 
walls?  Were  he  not  a  Jew  he  could  to-day  be  Pro 
fessor  at  the  medical  college  here.  And  poor  Aaron 
Silberstein — is  he  not  grown  bent  and  gray  and  mis 
erable  in  his  wretched  little  shop?  He  might  to-day 
be  upon  the  Supreme  Bench  of  Austria,  had  he  but 
consented  to  be  baptized.  I  tell  thee  it  is  obstinacy, 
nothing  but  obstinacy!  A  short  ceremony,  a  few 
drops  of  water — can  they  change  the  soul?  Or  does 
true  religion  consist  in  what  one  eats,  or  in  the 
strap  one  binds  upon  the  forehead,  or  that  one  prays 

24 


A  RENEGADE 


in  Hebrew  ?  In  the  end  they  are  alike, — Judaism  and 
Christianity, — both  for  the  betterment,  the  happiness 
of  mankind.  All  the  rest  is  trifling — empty  form. 
But  we  cannot  transform  the  world.  If  the  majority 
have  prejudices  and  insist  that  we  become  Chris 
tians,  it  is  absurd  to  stand  like  petulant  children.  It 
is  madness  to  try  to  run  our  heads  through  a  stone 
wall.  Obstinacy,  I  say,  sheer  obstinacy !  And  I  can 
not  sacrifice  position,  ease,  comfort,  wealth,  hope, 
ambition — aye,  fame  (thou  dost  not  dream  of  the 
heights  to  which  I  may  aspire) — for  an  empty  form. 
As  a  Jew  in  Vienna  I  cannot  earn  my  salt.  More 
over,  my  beloved  friend  and  benefactor,  Count  Rei- 
chenberg,  is  being  constantly  reproached  for  his  pro 
tection  of  a  Jew,  and  must  leave  me  to  my  fate  un 
less  I  change.  A  thousand  times  rather  death  than 
back  to  the  Ghetto !  It  is  useless  to  try  to  dissuade 
me.  The  first  steps  are  already  taken.  God  help 
thee  to  see  it  in  the  right  light.  We  shall  yet  be 
happy  together,  darling  mother,  till  a  hundred  years. 
Dost  remember  how  thou  didst  laugh  and  wonder 
that  the  Countess  has  her  breakfast  in  bed?  Thou 
wilt  live  like  the  Countess,  mother,  with  a  maid  to 
save  thy  dear,  tired  feet  every  step,  and  silken 
dresses,  and  a  new  Sabbath  cap  for  every  week  in 
the  year. 

Write  that  thou  forgivest  and  still  lovest  thy  affec 
tionate  son  till  death. 

PERETZ. 

P.  S. — My  letters  are  to  be  addressed  to  Father 
Ignatius  Becker,  at  the  Brother  House  of  St.  Bene 
dict. 

25 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

The  news  spread  like  wildfire  through 
the  Gass.  The  younger  folks  shrugged 
their  shoulders,  sighed,  and  looked  wise. 

"  Wai !  "  lamented  the  old  folks,  wring 
ing  their  hands.  "  A  traitor  in  Israel. 
PoorSchedel!" 

The  doctor  said  there  was  no  hope  for 
the  old  woman.  She  would  take  neither 
food  nor  drink,  and  lay  for  days  in  a  deep 
lethargy.  On  the  seventh  day  of  her  ill 
ness  another  letter  arrived.  In  fear  and 
apprehension,  yet  half  hoping  to  arouse 
her,  the  doctor  took  her  hand  and  said : 

"  Frau  Schedel,  here  is  a  letter  for 
you." 

Schedel  for  the  first  time  opened  her 
eyes. 

"  Isn't  he  done  yet?  "  moaned  she,  feeb 
ly.  "  Read !  read !  "  The  doctor  opened 
the  letter.  It  contained  only  a  few  lines 
and  a  ten-Gulden  gold  piece.  He  laid  them 
both  within  her  hand.  Schedel  slowly 
lifted  her  hand  and  looked  with  dim, 
26 


A  RENEGADE 


bleared  eyes  at  the  coin.  Then  suddenly, 
with  a  cry,  she  sat  up  in  bed. 

"  From  him !  "  she  cried  with  a  shrill 
voice.  "  Does  he  think  he  can  buy  me 
as  they  have  bought  him — with  a  piece 
of  gold?"  And  she  flung  the  coin  from 
her  with  such  force  that  it  crashed  through 
the  window  and  rolled  on  the  pavement 
outside. 

The  neighbors  stood  around  awaiting 
her  death;  the  friends  wept;  the  "pious 
women "  were  in  readiness;  but  toward 
evening  the  wrinkle  on  the  old  doctor's 
forehead  began  to  smooth  out,  for  Schedel 
opened  her  eyes  and  said : 

"  Why  do  you  sit  here,  Herr  Doctor 
Leben?  Waiting  for  me  to  die?  I  shall 
not  die  yet." 

"  It  all  lies  with  you,"  replied  he. 

"  I  tell  you  I  will  live ! "  assured 
Schedel. 

"  She  will  live,"  said  the  doctor,  and 
went  home  to  his  bed.  He  had  hardly 

27 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

closed  the  door  when  Schedel  said  to  the 
woman  who  was  watching  with  her: 

"  Bele  Leben,  bring  me  that  gold  piece." 

The  woman  gave  her  the  coin,  and  Sche 
del  placed  it  under  her  pillow.  The  next 
morning  she  breakfasted  on  bread  and 
milk. 

Every  seventh  day  following  this  a  letter 
containing  a  gold  piece  arrived,  and  with 
each  new  coin  Schedel  seemed  to  gain 
strength.  Yet  she  grew  thinner  and  paler 
every  day;  only  her  eyes  seemed  to  live, 
and  they  gleamed  with  a  strange,  wild 
energy.  She  kept  the  coins  carefully 
wrapped  in  an  old  piece  of  silk,  and,  when 
she  looked  at  them,  she  would  laugh  a 
low,  mirthless  laugh  that  terrified  those 
who  heard  her.  She  who  had  proudly  re 
fused  all  their  help  during  her  days  of  bit 
terest  poverty  now  lived  upon  the  soups 
and  invalid  dishes  the  neighbors  sent 
her. 

"  Let   me   buy   thee   a   bit   of   roasting 

28 


A  RENEGADE 


meat,"  urged  her  neighbor  Bele  one  day. 
"  Thou  needest  it  for  thy  strength." 

"  Have  I  money  for  roasting  meat? " 
replied  Schedel,  in  surprise.  Bele  flushed 
red  with  anger. 

"  Hast  thou  not  thy  pocket  heaped  full 
of  gold,  so  that  one  hears  it  jingle  a  mile 
off?  "  she  cried. 

Schedel  looked  at  her  quietly  for  a  mo 
ment,  then  said : 

"  If  I  were  lying  out  on  the  street  and 
dying,  and  one  should  say,  For  a  penny  of 
that  gold  thou  canst  buy  a  drop  of  water 
to  save  thy  life,  I  would  not  buy  it." 

"  Would  one  believe,"  said  the  people, 
contemptuously,  "  that  Schedel  would 
turn  out  such  a  miser?  " 

"  One  does  not  become  a  miser  over 
night,"  said  Dr.  Pinkus.  "  There  is  some 
thing  wrong  with  Schedel.  She  is  plan 
ning  something." 

The  morning  after  the  sixth  gold  piece 
had  arrived,  the  Gass  awoke  to  the  as- 

29 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

founding  news  that  Schedel  was  gone  and 
her  house  locked  up 

Two  weeks  later  an  old  woman,  hag 
gard,  footsore,  and  travel-stained,  joined 
a  great  throng  crowding  into  the  portals 
of  St.  Stephen's  Cathedral  in  Vienna. 

"  Art  sure,"  asked  she  of  the  Jewish  lad 
who  was  leading  her  by  the  hand,  "  that 
he  who  is  to  be  baptized  to-day  is  the 
young  man  Neuer?  It  must  be  a  mis 
take." 

"  Shall  I  not  know,  when  nothing  else 
has  been  talked  about  for  a  month?  Think 
not  it  is  for  him  that  all  these  people  have 
come.  Only  last  month,  when  the  old  law 
came  in  again,  and  we  Jews  were  forbidden 
to  own  land,  three  got  baptized,  but  not 
a  cock  crowed  about  them.  The  people 
have  come  to  see  the  Kaiser.  He  himself 
is  to  be  godfather  on  account  of  his  friend 
the  Count.  Such  a  thing  has  never  been 
before.  My  mother  says  she  doesn't 
know  whether  it  is  an  honor  or  a  disgrace 

30 


A  RENEGADE 


for  the  Jews.  Anyhow,  it  will  be  a  fine 
sight; "  and  the  boy,  stimulated  by  the 
promise  of  ten  Kreuzers,  began  to  elbow 
his  way  through  the  crowd,  and  dragged 
the  old  woman  with  him  into  the  Kaiser 
Chapel,  already  crowded  to  suffocation, 
where  the  ceremony  was  to  take  place. 

In  front,  near  the  altar,  on  which  a 
thousand  candles  glittered,  were  invited 
guests  of  the  nobility,  and,  in  a  place  of 
honor,  Count  Reichenberg  and  his  family. 
Suddenly  a  glorious  burst  of  organ  music 
shook  the  air,  the  chancel  door  opened, 
and  forth  came  the  cardinal  and  bishops 
and  a  procession  of  priests,  followed  by 
choir-boys,  some  swinging  censers.  Then 
came  the  convert,  led  by  two  acolytes.  He 
was  covered  from  the  neck  to  the  ground 
with  a  sweeping  robe  of  white,  his  face  pale 
as  death,  his  black  eyes  downcast. 

When  all  were  assembled,  the  chancel 
door  again  opened;  a  handsome,  pleasant- 
faced  young  man  entered  and  stood  beside 

31 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

the  convert.  The  church  was  hushed  with 
awe.  It  was  the  Emperor  Franz  Josef  of 
Austria ! 

Now  the  chant  began,  which  the  cardinal 
himself  intoned.  Then  all  again  was  si 
lence,  while  the  convert  uttered  the  con 
fession  of  faith,  bowed  his  head  to  receive 
the  holy  water,  raised  a  crucifix. on  high, 
and  pressed  it  to  his  lips. 

It  was  done !  The  people  were  about  to 
withdraw,  when  a  shrill  voice  in  the  con 
gregation  cried  suddenly,  "  Wait !  " 

An  old  woman,  dishevelled,  trembling, 
and  wild-eyed,  scrambled  over  the  low  altar 
rail. 

"  Wait ! "  she  cried,  with  a  low,  mad 
laugh.  "  I've  a  gift  for  the  newly  bap 
tized  child.  I've  come  afoot  all  the  way 
from  Maritz  to  bring  it.  See,"  she  added, 
extending  her  tattered  shoe,  "  not  enough 
leather  there  to  cut  a  little  patch." 

"  She  is  mad,"  whispered  the  priests, 
and  darted  forward  to  seize  her.  But  in 
32 


A  RENEGADE 


a  moment  Peretz  stood  beside  her  with 
uplifted  hand. 

"  She  is  my  mother,"  he  murmured. 

At  sight  of  him  the  old  woman  uttered 
a  fearful  shriek. 

"  Did  you  see  him,  all  of  you — did  you 
see  him  kiss  the  crucifix?  Pfui!  Thou 
wretch !  Accursed  Meshummed  [rene 
gade]  !  Here  thou  hast  thy  dirty  gold," 
and  she  flung  a  handful  of  coin  full  into  the 
young  man's  face.  The  blows  seamed  the 
flesh  with  livid  white,  which  in  a  moment 
turned  purple.  The  people  stared. 

"  A  maniac,"  "  She  raves,"  "  Bind  her," 
buzzed  the  crowd. 

But  she  had  flung  herself  on  her  son's 
neck,  and  was  wailing, 

"  Have  I  hurt  thee,  Peretz,  my  life?  I 
did  not  mean  it.  O,  the  poor  bruised 
face,"  and  she  stroked  the  red  spots  gently 
with  her  withered  fingers.  "  God  forgive 
me !  I  am  a  wicked  mother,"  she  sobbed. 
Lifting  her  in  his  arms,  Peretz  carried  her 
33 


,         A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

out  into  the  vestry,  where  she  lost  con 
sciousness. 

When  she  again  opened  her  eyes,  she 
looked  around  in  stupid  amazement  at  the 
strangers,  the  priests,  and  the  choir-boys. 

"  What  are  we  doing  here,  Peretz?  "  she 
complained  querulously.  "  Come,  let's  go 
home.  It  seems  to  me,"  she  whispered  in 
his  ear  with  scorn,  "  these  here  are  nothing 
but  Goyim  [Gentiles]." 

Two  days  later  the  Gass  was  in  an  ecsta 
sy  of  excitement,  when  a  special  coach  from 
Seldau  brought  Peretz  Neuer  and  the 
corpse  of  Schedel,  his  mother. 

On  the  evening  of  the  next  day,  when 
they  buried  her  beside  her  husband.  Peretz 
disappeared  from  the  village. 

For  years  he  was  never  mentioned  in 
the  Gass  without  a  curse.  "  Matricide  " 
was  the  favorite  name  given  him,  and  he 
was  held  up  as  a  warning  example  to  all 
unruly  children.  As  time  passed  he  was 
34 


A  RENEGADE 


almost  forgotten,  and  it  was  only  his  old- 
time  friend  Yaikew  Holzman,  whose  busi 
ness  often  brought  him  to  Vienna,  who 
kept  his  memory  alive. 

Once  he  came  home  with  the  announce 
ment  that  Peretz,  or  rather  Professor  Doc 
tor  Franz  Josef  Neuer,  as  he  was  now 
called,  being  named  after  the  Emperor, 
was  going  to  be  married  to  the  daughter  of 
Baron  von  Waldeck-Schleierbach.  An 
other  time,  that  he  was  acknowledged  the 
finest  Greek  scholar  in  all  Europe.  Then, 
that  his  text-books  were  used  in  every 
school  in  Austria,  and  that  he  was  making 
money  "  like  hay." 

Later  this  changed.  He  then  reported 
that  Peretz  had  two  daughters,  but  did  not 
live  happily  with  his  wife.  Then  they  were 
speaking  of  a  separation.  Then  he 
brought  the  exciting  news  that  the  Pro 
fessor  had  been  wounded  in  a  duel  with 
his  brother-in-law,  the  young  Baron,  who 
had  called  him  "  a  damned  Jew."  Years 
35 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

after  they  heard  that  he  was  separated 
from  his  wife  and  family,  and  lived  alone  in 
a  great,  stately  mansion,  with  servants  and 
carriages  and  all  manner  of  riches. 

One  day  they  read  in  a  paper  which  Yai- 
kew  brought  from  Vienna  that  the  eminent 
Greek  scholar  Dr.  Neuer  was  to  spend 
the  coming  Easter  holidays  with  his  old 
friend  Count  Reichenberg  at  Schloss 
Maritz.  The  excitement  in  the  Gass  was 
great. 

"  So  he  is  coming  back !  "  "  To  show 
off  his  greatness !  "  "  To  taunt  us  with  his 
riches !  "  "  The  accursed  apostate !  "  were 
the  comments  of  the  people.  And  Peretz 
came. 

The  Jews  listened  eagerly  for  gossip 
about  him,  but  all  they  heard  was  that  his 
handkerchiefs  were  always  spotted  with 
blood,  and  that  he  took  pellets  at  night 
to  stop  his  cough. 

:  'Tis  the  wasting  disease,"  they  said; 
"  God's  judgment  is  upon  him." 
36 


A  RENEGADE 


One  morning  the  children  of  the  Gass 
came  running  home  with  the  cry  that  the 
Count  and  his  guests  were  riding  through 
the  village  on  their  way  to  the  hunt. 

The  gay  cavalcade,  at  its  head  Dr. 
Neuer,  came  cantering  down  the  street. 

"  Seest  him,  the  wretch?  "  whispered  the 
Jewish  women,  pointing  him  out  to  their 
children,  on  whom  the  moral  of  a  familiar 
story  was  lost,  for  they  gazed  with  delight 
at  the  wicked  infidel.  Indeed,  never  had 
a  nobler-looking  man  been  seen  in  the 
Gass.  His  hair  was  gray,  his  smoothly 
shaven  face  lined  with  care  and  disease, 
but  he  sat,  a  manly  figure  of  perfect  ele 
gance  and  grace,  on  a  high-stepping,  milk- 
white  horse,  and  the  large  black  eyes 
glanced  with  haughty  indifference  about 
him. 

"  He  is  not  even  ashamed,"  cried  the 
people  with  rage,  as  the  riders  disappeared 
in  a  cloud  of  dust. 


37 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

The  great  Passover  festival  had  arrived. 
Through  all  the  village,  aye,  even  at  the 
princely  Schloss  Maritz,  was  its  wide  and 
subtle  influence  manifest.  Professor  Neu- 
er,  his  heart  heavy  with  memories,  fever 
ishly  paced  a  long,  dark  corridor,  when 
suddenly  the  clear  voice  of  the  young 
Countess  Gisela  reached  his  ear. 

"  That  Jew  girl/'  she  cried  angrily, 
"  sends  me  word  that,  on  account  of  one 
of  their  heathenish  festivals,  she  cannot 
mend  my  tunic.  It  is  most  exasperating! 
She  is  the  only  lace-maker  in  the 
village." 

"  We  shall  admire  the  fair  penitent  in 
another  gown,"  replied  her  husband,  jest 
ingly. 

'  You  know,"  pursued  the  Countess, 
petulantly,  "  that  I  have  vowed  my  Lenten 
gowns  shall  be  only  of  black  or  gray.  'Tis 
my  long  tunic  of  black  Duchesse — only  a 
small  tear — a  few  hours'  work.  The  un 
grateful  creature !  I  have  given  her  no 


A  RENEGADE 


end  of  work,  and  now,  for  nothing  at  all— 
O,  they  are  all  alike,  these  Jews !  I  cannot 
understand  papa's  infatuation  for  this  Jew 
— this  Dr.  Neuer.  His  haughtiness  irri 
tates  me.  Haughtiness!  It  is  his  Jewish 
impudence." 

"  I  had  thought  the  baptismal  waters 
washed  away  that  taint  these  twenty  years 
ago,"  interposed  the  young  Count,  laugh 
ingly. 

"  Absurd !  As  if  baptism  could  wash 
it  away.  No.  A  Jew  is  a  Jew,  and 
remains  a  Jew.  'Tis  in  the  blood — Judas's 
blood!" 

Dr.  Neuer  smiled  bitterly  as  he  walked 
on,  and  the  voices  died  away  behind  the 
heavy  portieres. 

But  in  the  Gass,  the  despised,  they  of 
the  Judas  blood,  were  seating  themselves 
joyfully  at  the  snowy  Seder  tables,  there 
to  celebrate  symbolically  and  with  praise 
and  song  the  redemption  of  the  children  of 
Israel  out  of  Egyptian  bondage. 
39 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

The  festival  in  Yaikew  Holzman's  house 
was  particularly  happy. 

Old  Holzman  read  the  service,  filling  in 
the  intervals  with  merry  jokes  and  reminis 
cences.  The  children  crammed  them 
selves  with  sweets,  toyed  with  the  sprigs 
of  horse-radish  which  they  were  bidden  to1 
eat  in  commemoration  of  the  bitterness  of 
their  ancestors'  lives  in  Egypt,  and  giggled 
as  they  slyly  threw  the  bitter  herb  under 
the  table. 

"  Granddaddy,  dear,"  said  Isserl,  Yai- 
kew's  youngest,  in  the  middle  of  the  meal, 
the  resting-place  in  the  service,  "  for  whom 
is  that  glass  of  wine  there  that  no  one 
drinks?" 

"  Listen  to  our  little  one,"  laughed  old 
Holzman,  patting  the  child  proudly;  "  he 
questions  like  a  Talmud  scholar." 

"That,"    he     explained,     "is    for    the 

prophet    Elijah.      After    we    have    eaten 

and  said  grace,  we  will  throw  wide  open 

the  door,   that  Elijah  may  enter.     If  he 

40 


A  RENEGADE 


comes,  he  will  be  the  forerunner  of  the 
Messiah;  then  next  year  we  shall  all  be  in 
Jerusalem." 

"  Let  me  open  the  door  for  Elijah,"  cried 
Isserl,  leaping  from  his  chair  after  grace 
had  been  said. 

He  flung  wide  open  the  door. 

"  Here  he  is,"  he  piped  gleefully. 

The  company  uttered  a  cry  of  terror, 
for  in  the  door-way  stood  a  man;  not  the 
long-haired,  barefoot  Tishbite,  but  an  ele 
gant  gentleman  in  faultless  evening  attire. 
A  sable-lined  cloak  hung  upon  his  shoul 
ders,  and  around  his  neck  on  a  ribbon  hung 
an  imperial  decoration — the  Golden  Cross 
of  the  Legion  of  Honor. 

"  Pardon  me,"  said  he,  entering  the 
room  with  a  timid,  hesitating  step.  "  Did 
I  frighten  you?  Dost  thou  not  know  me, 
Yaikew?" 

"  Peretz,"  gasped  Yaikew,  white  to  the 
lips. 

"  Have  you  not  room  for  an  old  friend 
41 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

at  your  Seder  table?  "  pleaded  Neuer,  with 
a  faint  smile. 

The  company  stared,  with  pale,  troubled 
faces,  but  old  Holzman  cried  scornfully: 

"  This  is  a  Jewish  festival;  it  is  not  in 
tended  for  the  Goy.  Why  do  you  come 
and  disturb  my  festival? "  he  added 
roughly. 

Neuer  stood  at  the  door,  hat  in  hand, 
meek  as  a  beggar.  His  lips  trembled 
pitifully,  his  eyes  roved  large  and  plead 
ing  over  the  happy  family  group  and  the 
old  familiar  scene. 

"  I  was — so  homesick,"  he  murmured 
faintly,  trembling  in  every  limb. 

"  Father,  let  him  remain,"  urged  Yai- 
kew.  "  Dost  thou  not  see  that  the  man  is 
sick?  Surely  he  is  penitent." 

"  Penitent !  "  cried  the  old  man,  fiercely. 
"  See  the  sign  of  his  penitence.  See!  He 
wears  it  on  his  bosom !  "  and  he  pointed 
with  trembling  finger  at  the  cross  on 
Peretz's  breast. 

42 


A  RENEGADE 


For  a  moment  the  bitter  smile  which 
the  Countess's  scorn  had  called  forth  hov 
ered  again  on  Peretz's  lips.  It  was  quickly 
replaced  by  his  habitual  haughtiness. 

"  Pardon  my  intrusion !  "  he  said  coldly, 
but  he  clutched  the  door-post  and  reeled 
like  a  drunken  man  as  he  walked  away  and 
disappeared  in  the  darkness. 

An  hour  later  the  Gass  was  disturbed  by 
breathless  ejaculations  and  hurried  foot 
steps  on  the  quiet  street. 

"  What  has  happened?"  cried  Yaikew 
from  his  door-way. 

"  A  corpse — they  have  found  a  corpse 
in  the  cemetery,"  whispered  a  passer-by. 

Yaikew  seized  a  lantern  and  ran  with  the 
rest.  The  joy  of  the  festival  was  at  an  end. 
The  men  hurried  down  the  street  with  pale 
faces,  the  terror-stricken  women  clasped 
their  children,  and  in  every  mind  raged  the 
horrible  memories  of  the  "  blood  accusa 
tion." 

All  hearts  failed  when,  arrived  at  the 
43 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

cemetery,  they  saw  the  form  of  a  man 
stretched  lifeless  across  a  grave. 

"  The  Meshummed !  "  gasped  a  dozen 
breaths. 

The  grave  on  which  he  lay  was  that  of 
his  mother.  Beside  him  was  an  old,  black 
prayer-book,  bearing  Schedel's  name  on 
the  fly-leaf.  It  lay  open  at  the  Kaddish, 
the  mourner's  prayer  for  the  dead,  that 
glorious  exaltation  of  God,  that  deathless, 
ancient  cry,  which,  with  mysterious  power, 
binds  together  all  Israel  as  with  imperish 
able  bonds  of  steel. 

Peretz  the  Renegade  sleeps  in  the  ceme 
tery  of  St.  Benedict,  under  a  massive  mar 
ble  cross;  but  every  year,  at  the  anniversary 
of  his  death,  that  ancient  Kaddish  prayer 
rises  to  heaven,  and  a  death-light  is  kindled 
in  his  memory,  in  the  house  of  Yaikew 
Holzman  of  the  Gass. 


44 


DOVID  AND  RESEL 


II 

DOVID  AND  RESEL 

HOW  THEY  MARRIED 

Ever  strange  are  the  instruments  of  Fate. 
Passing  strange  are  the  instruments  of 
Fate  in  the  Gass,  for  there  it  may  chance 
that  an  awkward  bar-maid  spills  a  dish  of 
pickled  herring,  and  lo! — thereupon,  and 
within  the  hour,  a  youth  and  maiden  who 
are  unconscious  of  one  another's  existence 
become  betrothed. 

Thus  did  it  happen,  indeed,  and  Anshel 
Dorfgeher,  instead  of  blessing  gawky  Pepi 
as  a  bearer  of  joy,  swore  as  he  dodged  the 
acid  drippings  of  her  slopping  platter, 
leaped  from  his  chair,  and  betook  himself 
with  his  pipe  and  mug  to  the  other  end  of 
the  room. 

Reb  Joiness's  tavern  was  well-filled  with 

47 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Jewish  tradespeople,  acquaintances  of 
Anshel,  but  he  chanced  to  find  a  vacant 
place  beside  a  stranger,  a  prosperous-look 
ing  farmer,  who  after  five  minutes'  conver 
sation  turned  out  to  be  no  other  than  his 
old  friend,  Aarele  Wolf,  whom  he  had  not 
met  for  thirty  years. 

"Well,  well,"  cried  Anshel,  "-to  think 
that  we  two  have  been  here  at  the  fair  all 
week  and  never  met, — and  thou  wast  on 
the  point  of  returning  home,  thou  sayest. 
Ai,  ai, — and  I  came  near  missing  thee,  too ! 
Nu,  how  goes  it?  Thou  lookest  prosper 
ous. — Pure  silver,  what?  "  he  said,  finger 
ing  the  buttons  on  Aarele's  coat. 

"  Thou  dost  not  look  starved  thyself," 
laughed  Aarele,  good-humoredly.  "  How 
goes  it  with  thee?  " 

"  Nu,  there  is  always  something,"  com 
plained  Anshel  with  a  shrug.  '  Little 
children,  little  troubles;  big  children,  big 
troubles/  My  eldest  daughter  is  already 
eighteen;  but  what  can  I  do? — I  can't  find 
48 


DOVID  AND  RESEL 


her  a  husband.  A  world  nowadays !  Who 
looks  for  family  or  bringing  up?  Bah! 
nothing  but  money,  money,  and  again 
money.  She  could  have  had  a  certain  Kra- 
kauer;  the  family  are  strangers, — have 
been  only  twelve  years  in  Maritz, — but  can 
I  give  her  to  the  first  run-about  Polak  who 
asks  and  who  comes  from  God-alone- 
knows-where?  She  could  also  have  had 
Yossele  Krummer's  son — a  first-class 
Shlemiel  and  an  ignoramus;  usser  does  he 
know  the  first  page  of  the  Pentateuch." 

"  I  know  it's  not  so  easy  to  find  a  good 
match  nowadays,"  replied  Aarele.  "  I've 
been  hunting  a  wife  for  my  Dovid  for  half  a 
year." 

Anshel  started  as  though  he  had  received 
a  blow  in  the  back. 

"  Thou  sayest  not  so !  "  he  cried.  "  Well, 
well, — so  thou  hast  a  grown-up  son, — hm, 
hm, — who  would  think  it? — and  art  hunt 
ing  him  a  wife? — well,  well !  " 

"  The  Rodower  Shadchen  [marriage- 
49 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

broker]  runs  my  house  out  with  offers," 
said  Aarele,  "  but  what  do  I  want  with  fine 
city  ladies !  Goyim,  I  give  thee  my  word, 
—not  a  Jewish  drop  left  in  them." 

Anshel's  eyes  grew  small,  but  they 
twinkled,  as  when  he  held  a  good  hand  at 
cards. 

'  'Tis  as  thou  sayest,"  he  returned; 
"  these  city  girls,  they  are  not  worth  spit 
ting  at.  Shall  I  not  know,  who  live  among 
them?  But,  thank  God,  my  Resel  is  of  a 
different  kind.  I  don't  want  to  brag,  but 
I  tell  thee  thou  couldst  travel  through  the 
length  and  breadth  of  Austria  and  not  find 
her  like.  Clever !  hm — diligent, — pious, — a 
beauty !  "  and  then  followed  a  speech,  the 
point  of  which  was  that  Resel  was  a  won 
der;  combined  the  virtues  of  her  ances 
tresses,  Sarah,  Rebekah,  and  Rachel,  with 
the  more  modern  accomplishment  of  cook 
ing  fish  with  raisin  gravy,  and  the  reason 
she  was  still  unmarried  was  because  her 
mate  could  not  be  found. 
50 


DOVID  AND  RESEL 


Aarele  looked  impressed. 

"  My  Dovidl,"  he  began;  but  at  this 
point  Anshel  judged  it  wise  to  begin  play 
ing  trumps.  He  ordered  wine.  And  it  was 
a  good  play,  for  after  the  third  glass  Aarele 
suddenly  said  warmly, — 

"  How  would  it  be  if  we  made  a  match  of 
them?" 

"  A  yokel ! — he's  easy,"  crow'ed  Anshel, 
inwardly,  but  his  face  took  on  an  air  of 
great  humility. 

"How  so, — a  match?"  he  said.  "  Fm 
a  poor  man  and  thou'lt  be  wanting  a  great 
dowry. 

"  Nu,  how  much  dost  thou  give?  " 

"  She  has  a  fine  outfit, — a  princess  need 
not  be  ashamed  of  it,"  said  Anshel. 

"Nu?" 

"  'Tis  worth  no  less  than  three  hundred 
Gulden,"  said  Anshel. 

"Nu,  nu?" 

"  Nu, — two  hundred." 

"Two  hundred!"  cried  Aarele.  "My 
51 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

son  has  but  to  stretch  out  his  hands,  and 
he  can  have  a  girl  hanging  on  each  finger, 
— not  with  two  hundred,  but  with  two 
thousand!  Under  three  hundred  he  dare 
not  take  her." 

"  Did  I  say  I  want  thy  son?  "  replied  An- 
shel,  coolly.  "  Why  should  she  bury  her 
self  in  the  country,  a  beautiful,  pious 
maiden?  " 

This  also  was  a  good  play,  for  Aarele  be 
came  wroth,  and  thereby  showed  his  weak 
ness. 

"  Hast  du  gesehn !  "  he  cried  indignant 
ly, — "  too  elegant !  And  I  tell  thee  if  she 
lived  a  hundred  years,  she  could  not  find 
a  better  match.  My  Dovid  is  a  boy  in  a 
thousand.  There  is  not  a  second  head  like 
his  to  be  found  in  all  of  scattered  Israel, — 
of  iron,  I  tell  thee,"  and  so  on  crescendo, 
leaving  Dovid  a  marvel  of  gifts  and  graces, 
in  no  wise  out-distanced  by  Resel. 

"  Nu,"  replied  Anshel,  "  if  I  haven't  got 
the  money,  I  haven't  got  it,  that's  all." 
52 


DOVID  AND  RESEL 


"  The  money,"  cried  Aarele.  t(  What  do 
I  care  for  the  money !  That's  the  least.  But 
if  only  for  decency, — I  can't  let  him  take  a 
beggar  into  the  house, — make  it  two-sev 
enty-five." 

"  There's  no  use  talking,  Aarele.  When 
I  think  of  it,  I  don't  see  how  I  can  drive  up 
more  than  one-seventy-five  cash,  not  if  I 
scrape  together  my  last  Kreuzers.  Finish 
thy  glass, —  I  must  be  going.  Why  need 
she  marry  into  the  country?  If  I  only  men 
tioned  it  to  her  mother," — and  now  came 
Anshel's  best  card, — "  thou  knowest  she  is 
the  great-grand-niece  of  a  brother  of  the 
famous  and  pious  Rabbi  Yecheskel  Lan 
dau, — she  would  tear  her  hair  out." 

The  game  was  won,  for  Aarele  could  not 
withstand  the  bait  of  such  distinguished 
ancestry. 

"  Are  we  not  a  pair  of  fools !  "  he  now 

cried  in  a  conciliatory  tone.     "  Shall  we 

make  our  children  unhappy  on  account  of 

a  few  miserable  Gulden?     Say  not  another 

53 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

word; — we'll  call  it  two  hundred  and  done ! 

What?" 

"  Nu,— Maseltow  [good  luck!] !  " 

"  Maseltow ! "  and  the   friends   clasped 

hands  across  the  table. 

When  Anshel  returned  from  the  coun 
try-fair  next  day,  bringing  with  him  a  pros 
perous-looking  stranger,  all  the  Gass  tip 
toed  with  curiosity. 

The  front  door  of  his  house  had  hardly 
closed  behind  them  when  the  back  one 
opened,  and  forth  came  little  Isserl  and 
Herzl,  promising  twigs  on  Anshel's  family- 
tree. 

Isserl  trotted  at  break-neck  speed  in  the 
direction  of  Muhme  Maryam's,  and  re 
turned  with  a  roundish  parcel. 

"  Kiichel  [cookies],"  cried  the  Gass. 

Herzl  flew  at  top-speed  in  the  direction 
of  Shlome  Edelstein's,  and  returned  with  a 
longish  parcel. 

"  Wine,"  gasped  the  Gass. 

54 


DOVID  AND  RESEL 


Then  a  rumor  went  forth,  mysterious  in 
its  source  as  the  one  that  scattered  Sen 
nacherib,  casting  consternation  into  the 
hearts  of  the  matrons,  envy  into  the  hearts 
of  the  maidens : 

"  Hast  heard?— Resel,  Anshel  Dorfge- 
her's,  is  a  bride." 

"  No, — thou  sayest  not  so ! — With 
whom?  " 

"  His  name  is  not  yet  known,  but  the 
father-in-law  sits  in  their  Stub  [best  room] 
eating  of  Maryam's  most  expensive 
cookies,  and  drinking  red  wine  out  of  their 
silver-plated  cup." 

And  though  the  Gass  walked  past  An- 
shel's  window  with  studiously  averted  head 
or  scanning  an  invisible  landscape,  it  saw 
aright,  for  within  Aarele  was  lolling  luxur 
iously  in  Anshel's  best  arm-chair,  while 
Resel  tremblingly  poured  his  wine,  and 
Leah,  her  mother,  sang  inward  paeans. 

The  younger  branches,  from  fifteen- 
year-old  Dordl  to  tiny  Lebl,  having  been 
55 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

duly  presented,  in  a  row,  like  a  card  of  pins 
in  assorted  sizes,  now  held  post  in  the 
kitchen,  Dordl,  as  eldest,  having  undis 
puted  right  of  the  key-hole. 

"  The  finest  cakes  I  ever  ate,"  said 
Aarele,  helping  himself  to  another. 

"  His  fifth ! "  groaned  Dordl  at  the  key 
hole. 

"  The  Fresser  [glutton]  ! "  wailed  the 
twigs. 

"Didst  bake  them  thyself,  Resel? " 
asked  the  prospective  father-in-law,  smack 
ing  his  lips. 

"  Resel  does  all  of  our  baking/'  equivo 
cated  her  mother  with  an  inward  prayer 
of  "  God  forgive  me  the  lie." 

Aarele  laughed  at  the  fib,  for  his  well- 
trained  palate  recognized  the  art  of  a  spe 
cialist. 

"  Nu,"  he  said  with  a  wink,  "  she  may 
bake  this  kind  once  a  week,  when  she's 
my  son's  wife." 

His  wife !  Ah,  the  bewitching  word ! 
56 


DOVID  AND  RESEL 


Resel  thrilled  at  the  sound,  and  soared  at 
its  magic  on  roseate  clouds.  The  silken 
folds  of  her  wedding-dress  rustled  divinely 
in  her  ears;  he  was  leaning  fondly  over 
her,  as  it  said  in  the  precious,  forbidden 
books;  he  was  whispering  tenderly,  "  Sweet 
wifie."  Ah,  dearest,  sweetest  he, — for  she 
did  not  yet  know  his  name. 

On  the  following  Friday  came  Dovid  to 
make  the  acquaintance  of  his  betrothed, 
and,  before  the  young  couple  had  had  a 
good  look  at  each  other,  the  Gass  already 
knew  that  his  stiff  collars  worry  him,  but 
beyond  that  he  is  cultured,  for  not  only 
does  he  carry  a  white  handkerchief,  but  he 
uses  it. 

The  Sabbath  afternoon  is  the  only  time 
for  leisure  and  love-making  in  the  Gass, 
and  the  young  people  had  awaited  the  hour 
with  anxiety,  for  much  was  expected  of 
them  at  their  first  private  conversation. 
Dovid  had  waxed  eloquent  on  grain  and 
57 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

the  price  of  wool  at  the  dinner-table,  but 
to  talk  to  a  strange  young  woman,  who 
happens,  moreover,  to  be  one's  betrothed, 
is  not  such  a  simple  matter  as  it  sounds, 
and  he  was  nervous.  Resel,  eager  and  yet 
timid,  hoped  he  would  do  it  as  it  says  in 
the  books. 

"  You  young  people  are  perishing,  no 
doubt,  to  have  a  word  together,"  said 
Resel's  mother,  pushing  two  chairs  to 
gether  after  the  dinner-table  was  cleared, 
the  children  disposed  of,  and  Anshel  spread 
in  his  chair  for  his  weekly  nap.  "  Nu,  sit 
down,  sit  down, — what  are  you  ashamed 
of?" 

Resel  dropped  upon  the  half  of  one, 
Dovid  slid  on  to  the  edge  of  the  other 
chair,  both  pink  and  miserable  and  sheep 
ish. 

Dordl,  who  had  been  going  about  with  a 
glorified    "  my-turn-next "    air,    and    now 
held    post    again    at    the    key-hole,    here 
showed  signs  of  agitation. 
58 


DOVID  AND  RESEL 


"  What  is  it?  "  whispered  the  younger 
twigs. 

"  Sh-sh— it's  lovely!  "  said  Dordl. 

"  I  also  was  young  once,"  laughed 
Resel's  mother,  reminiscently.  "  Are  you 
not  betrothed? — 'tis  no  more  than  proper; 
you  can  even  take  hands  if  you  wish.  Why 
not? — I'm  not  even  looking." 

At  this  Dovid  put  out  a  wooden  hand, 
into  which  Resel  dropped  three  leaden  fin 
gers,  and  Dordl,  at  the  key-hole,  took  a 
panic. 

"  They're  already  fond !  "  she  whispered 
ecstatically. 

"How  canst  tell?" 

"They're  holding  hands!" 

And  the  younger  branches  pranced  on 
tip-toe,  beat  their  hands  in  air,  and  giggled 
frantically, — 

"  They're  holding  hands !  " 

It  was  Dovid's  business  to  begin. 

Resel    twisted    her    handkerchief    and 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

waited,  and  Dovid  grew  warm  and  thought 
of  many  things. 

"  The  point  is  to  begin  right,"  thought 
he.  "  To  say  something  that's  personal 
and  yet  not  indelicate,  tender  and  yet  not 
forward,  complimentary  and  yet  not  flat 
tering, — by  Heaven,  that's  no  easy  mat 
ter!" 

Sometimes,  when  he  was  ready  to  begin, 
Anshel  snored,  and  then  it  seemed  senti 
mental;  then,  again,  when  he  had  an  idea, 
Resel  would  sigh,  and  it  seemed  coarse. 
The  afternoon  was  going;  Dovid  mopped 
his  face  and  thought  that  he  had  never 
sweated  so — not  even  at  haying. 

Resel  had  twisted  her  handkerchief  into 
a  rag,  the  shadows  on  the  pavement  were 
growing  long,  when  a  little  child  ran  by 
munching  a  cake,  and  Dovid  had  a  happy 
inspiration.  Just  the  thing!  Personal, 
and  yet  not  indelicate;  tender,  and  yet  not 
forward;  complimentary,  and  yet  not 
flattering. 


DOVID  AND  RESEL 


He  cleared  his  throat,  grew  pale,  and 
said  in  a  hollow  voice, — 

"  My  father  says  thou  makest  very  good 
Kiichel." 

"  Wai !  "  cried  Resel  in  her  heart,  "  what 
sort  of  creature  is  this?  He  thinks  of  noth 
ing  but  eating!  " 

Though  Dovid  remained  all  of  the  next 
day,  came  again  the  following  week  form 
ally  to  celebrate  the  betrothal,  and  once 
more  to  bring  his  mother,  the  young  cou 
ple  exchanged  not  another  word  in  private 
until  the  wedding-day. 

n 

HOW  THEY  FELL  IN  LOVE 

When  Dovid  sat  down  to  his  breakfast 
the  morning  after  their  wedding,  and  gazed 
for  the  first  time  coolly  and  calmly  at  his 
wife,  he  realized  suddenly  that  the  pale, 
young  face  of  the  woman  opposite  him 
was  the  face  of  a  stranger,  and  his  spirits 

sank  like  lead. 

61 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  As  long  as  life  does  last,"  he  moaned. 
"  Suppose  she  is  not  good, — not  loving. 
Do  I  know?  O,  father  has  easy  talking. 
He  doesn't  have  to  live  with  her.  Wai, 
what  have  I  done?  Great  God  in  Heaven, 
give  me  strength  to  bear  it !  " 

Resel  sat  and  sighed.  'Twas  all  so  dif 
ferent  from  what  she  had  thought.  Yes, 
the  wedding  had  been  grand;  all  the  girls 
had  envied  her;  her  silken  gown  had  rus 
tled  divinely;  but  he, — he  whispered  no 
tender  words;  he  was  so  cold  and  silent. 
Alas,  the  dream  had  not  come  true, — it 
was  a  stranger, — not  he  at  all. 

There  was  not  much  to  do  in  their  little 
house,  where  everything  was  spotless  and 
new,  and  the  days  dragged  on  wearily. 
Sometimes  she  went  to  the  main  farm 
house,  but  all  were  busy  there  with  their 
own  affairs,  and  when  she  took  a  turn  at 
churning,  they  laughed  at  her  small,  white 
hands,  which  blistered  in  a  moment. 

Her  mother-in-law  measured  her  with 

62 


DOVID  AND  RESEL 


jealous  glances,  and  when  Aarele,  the  old 
farmer,  caught  sight  of  her,  he  would  cry 
out  teasingly, — 

"  Nu,  Resel,  hast  not  baked  those 
Kiichel  yet?  " 

Him  she  only  saw  at  meal  times,  and 
when  the  silence  became  too  awkward,  he 
talked  about  the  potato  crop  and  the 
young  lambs. 

Resel  shrugged  her  shoulders  and 
thought, — 

"  What  do  I  know  about  the  potato  crop 
and  young  lambs !  " 

On  a  morning  in  the  second  week  of 
their  marriage  came  Dovid's  mother,  who, 
since  his  marriage,  had  been  burdened  with 
the  idea  that  her  beloved  son  was  about  to 
be  annihilated  by  a  process  of  slow  starva 
tion  at  the  hands  of  this  dainty-fingered 
city  lady.  She  carried  a  pan  of  fresh-baked 
buns. 

"  Here,"  she  said  with  a  little  sneer, 
"  I've  brought  you  something  to  eat. 
63 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

What  art  going  to  get  for  his  dinner?  " 
she  asked,  peering  at  the  stove  inquisi 
tively. 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  Resel.  "  I  don't 
know  what  he  likes." 

"  If  the  wife  don't  know,  who  should?  " 
grumbled  the  old  lady.  "  If  one  has  a 
tongue  in  one's  head,  one  needs  but  ask. 
Canst  make  noodle-soup?  "  she  asked  with 
curling  lip. 

Resel  flushed  angrily. 

"  Am  yet  as  clever  as  a  lot  of  country 
yokels,"  rushed  to  her  lips,  but  the  woman 
in  the  door-way  stooped  under  her  black 
shawl,  and  her  face  was  worn  and  wrinkled, 
so  Resel  bridled  her  tongue  and  said 
meekly, — 

"  Then  I'll  make  noodles." 

"  Do  they  think  I'm  an  idiot? "  she 
scolded  over  her  baking-board.  "  Pooh, 
what  a  great  thing  to  make  cheese  and  mix 
chicken-food.  Any  stable  wench  can  milk 
and  churn.  I  should  just  like  to  see  one  of 
64 


DOVID  AND  RESEL 


them  in  town.  What  do  they  know  of  cul 
ture?  Can  any  one  of  them  set  a  table 
that  the  knives  and  forks  stand  upright  to 
gether  and  the  napkins  are  folded  into 
hats?  May  I  never  stir  from  this  spot  if  she 
can  make  noodles  any  finer  than  these,— 
fine  as  hair,"  and  she  looked  with  satisfac 
tion  at  a  little  yellow  mound,  like  a  tumbled 
mass  of  thread,  that  was  growing  under  her 
knife. 

The  morning  dragged  on  wearily;  the 
dinner  was  boiling  on  the  stove,  and  Resel 
sat  at  the  window  and  moped,  sat  facing, 
not  the  road  by  which  her  husband  would 
come,  but  northward,  toward  home  and  the 
Gass. 

"What  sort  of  life  is  this?"  she  mused 
dejectedly.  "  Was  I  raised  to  such  as  this, 
— to  sit  here  alone  as  in  a  prison?  Who 
can  endure  this?  At  home  now,  to-day,  is 
market,  and  the  girls  are  all  at  the  pump, 
and  Reb  Noach's  shop  is  full  of  new  cali 
coes,  and  here — my  God!  what  is  here? 
65 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

An  ugly  potato-field,  a  crooked  barn,  a 
pasture  full  of  dirty  cows,"  she  summed  up 
the  landscape.  "  And  lie — he  is  so  strange 
and  quiet — a  lot  of  stupid  farmers.  Wai, 
if  mother  were  only  here !  "  Thus,  till  a 
crunching  on  the  walk  sent  her  to  her  feet 
and  beside  the  stove. 

Then,  horrors,  what  a  sight !  While  she 
had  been  sulking,  the  lid  had  slipped  off 
the  pot  and  the  soup — the  soup  was  gone ! 
Resel  smelt  its  vapors,  which  were  stealing 
leisurely  out  of  the  window.  The  little 
that  was  left  looked  sad  and  murky,  and 
the  noodles  lay,  a  discolored,  sticky,  evil- 
smelling  mass,  at  the  bottom  of  the  pot. 
The  soup  was  burnt, — hopelessly  burnt, — 
and  her  husband  was  at  the  door. 

"  I'll  throw  it  into  the  slops, — it  won't 
hurt  him  to  dine  on  potatoes  once  in 
his  life,"  she  resolved  with  a  defiant 
sniff. 

Dovid  was  hot  and  tired;  the  kitchen 
seemed  cool  and  restful,  and  Resel  in  her 
66 


DOVID  AND  RESEL 


long  apron  at  the  stove  was  good  to  look 
at.  He  cast  about  in  his  mind  for  some 
thing  pleasant  to  say.  Noticing  the  evi 
dence  of  baking  on  her  board  he  said : 

"  Hast  made  noodles?  How  didst  know 
I  like  noodle-soup?  " 

"God!  God!"  groaned  Resel  in  her 
heart,  "  what  shall  I  do?  Did  I  not  always 
say  it — he  thinks  of  nothing  but  eating?  " 

There  was  no  help  for  it — she  must 
serve  the  soup.  He  was  already  at  table 
and  waiting. 

"  He'll  scream,"  she  thought  in  agony. 
"  He  should  just  scream.  What  do  I  care ! 
He'll  tell  his  mother.  Wai,  I'll  never  hear 
the  end  of  it.  O,  why  did  I  ever  leave 
home? — why  did  I  marry  him? — O,  my 
God !  my  God !  I  wish  I  were  dead !  " 

Resel  waited  until  grace  was  said,  then 
dished  out  a  plateful  for  Dovid,  and  took  a 
little  for  herself. 

"Why  dost  not  eat?"  asked  Dovid, 
waiting. 

67 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  I'm  not  hungry,"  sulked  Resel. 

Dovid  said  nothing,  but  took  up  his 
spoon. 

Resel's  heart  began  to  beat  madly.  He 
dipped.  He  lifted.  He  took  it  in.  He 

swallowed,  and  then He  dipped.  He 

lifted.  He  took  it  in,  and  swallowed  again 
and  again  and  yet  again  without  word  or 
sign. 

Resel  stared  with  amazement,  until  the 
sulking  upon  her  lips  began  to  melt,  and 
fell  as  hot  tears  upon  her  folded  hands  in 
her  lap. 

Dovid  saw  them  fall,  and  his  heart  ached 
within  him. 

"  Poor  little  pigeon,  she's  troubled  about 
the  soup,"  he  thought,  and  choked  over 
his  food. 

"  Art  not  well,  Resel?  "  said  he,  when  he 
had  finished,  and  Resel  still  sat  motionless 
and  tearful. 

"  I'm  well,"  faltered  Resel. 

"  Shall  I  send  mother  or  one  of  the  chil- 

68 


DOVID  AND  RESEL 


dren  to  stay  with  thee?"  he  asked  at  the 
door. 

Resel  shook  her  head  mutely,  but  as  the 
door  closed  behind  him  she  flung  herself 
forward  on  the  table,  sobbing. 

"He  ate  it — the  nasty,  sticky,  smelly 
mess !  Not  to  grieve  me,  he  ate  it.  Poor, 
poor  fellow, — works  all  day  there  in  the  hot 
sun  for  me,  and  / — I  give  him  burnt  soup. 
I  am  not  fit  to  be  his  wife, — he  should  have 
sent  me  packing,  that's  what !  Not  a  com 
plaint  !  not  a  word !  Fie  on  thee,  thou  lazy 
slut.  If  mother  knew  it,  would  she  not 
box  my  ears,  and  serve  me  right?  "  Thus, 
full  of  self-reproach  and  penitence  until 
the  winter  in  her  heart  was  melted  all  away, 
and  in  its  place  bloomed  a  new  and 
joyous  springtime.  "  But  he  shall  have  a 
supper  better  even  than  his  mather  can 
make,"  she  resolved,  drying  her  eyes. 
"  If  he  would  only  forgive  me  that  soup. 
He  has  a  kind  heart,  my  husband. 
Another  would  have  scolded  and  stormed. 
69 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

How  sweetly  he  said  it,  '  Art  not  well, 
Resel?"' 

Resel  smiled  and  looked  about  her.  It 
was  as  if  her  tears  had  washed  away  a  mist 
from  before  her  eyes,  and  she  saw  her  new 
home  now  for  the  first  time. 

"  It  is  a  pretty  place,"  she  thought,  "  if 
one  but  looks  at  it  right.  'Twas.  sweeter 
than  a  song — '  Art  not  well,  Resel? '  I 
think  he  said  '  my  dear/  Has  the  Gass 
the  like  of  this?  "  she  boasted  while  getting 
her  dishwater.  "  There  one  has  to  run  half 
a  mile  to  the  pump  for  a  drop  of  water,  but 
we — we  have  a  well-full  right  before  the 
door!  Pooh,  what  are  Reb  Noach's  cali 
coes  to  this?  We  have  fields  and  chickens, 
such  a  dear  potato-field,  such  a  sweet  barn, 
such  darling  cows !  Yes,  I'm  sure  he  said 
1  my  dear  ' !  " 

A  meadow-lark  on  a  fence-post  cocked 

its  head  and  trilled  a  merry  roulade.    Resel 

listened  and  laughed,  she  knew  not  why, 

and,  as  if  not  to  be  outdone,  she  lifted  her 

70 


DOVID  AND  RESEL 


round  chin  and  chirped  a  lively  synagogue 
tune.  She  entered  the  house  with  her 
brimming  pail.  There  in  the  corner  hung 
his  house-coat,  old,  gray,  and  shabby,  and 
sagging  at  the  pocket  where  bulged  his 
tobacco-pouch.  Resel  began  to  tremble 
deliciously  at  sight  of  it,  the  hot  blood 
poured  over  neck  and  face,  and  with  a  little 
cry  she  ran  and  hid  her  burning  face  in  its 
rough  folds. 

"  Oh,  my  dear,  darling  Dovid,"  she 
cried,  "  'twas  no  mistake.  'Tis  lie — 'tis 
lie." 

David  had  left  the  house  with  the  pur 
pose  of  joining  the  potato-diggers,  but  sat 
instead  on  a  barrow  chewing  straws. 

"  How  she  wept, — poor  little  crumb,"  he 
mused.  "  Am  I  such  a  brute,  that  she  cries 
for  fear  of  me?  No  wonder;  I  go  around 
in  the  house  like  a  growling  bear  and  say 
nothing.  She  burnt  the  soup; — nu,  what  of 
it?  can  happen  to  anyone;  such  a  young 
71 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

little  thing!  Don't  I  remember  the  time 
mother  salted  the  potatoes  till  they  were 
like  brine,  and  spilled  the  buttermilk,  and 
we  had  no  supper  at  all?  Perhaps, — it 
can't  be  that  she  was  sorry?  "  and  Dovid's 
eyes  grew  filmy  with  gazing  at  the  little 
brown  house  that  was  now  his  home. 
"  Perhaps  she's  homesick;  perhaps — my 
God !  perhaps  she's  not  well,"  and  with  a 
new  agony  and  a  wild  gripping  at  the  heart 
he  leapt  to  his  feet  and  started  across  the 
field  homeward.  Just  then  Resel  appeared 
in  the  window  shaking  a  table-cloth,  and 
Dovid  had  to  lean  with  a  sense  of  sudden 
weakness. 

Long  before  the  supper  hour  he  went 
hurrying  homeward,  while  Resel  sat,  pink, 
neat,  and  tremulous,  at  the  window;  sat 
looking  down  the  road  by  which  Dovid  was 
coming,  and — alas,  for  woman's  constancy 
— with  her  back  turned  on  Maritz  and  the 
Gass,  on  the  town-pump  and  Reb  Noach's 
calicoes.  She  saw  him  coming  and  hurried 
72 


DOVID  AND  RESEL 


to  the  stove,  where  the  dumplings  were 
browning  prettily.  His  step  was  on  the 
walk;  Resel  turned  and  saw  him  standing 
in  the  door-way,  self-conscious  and  awk 
ward  as  a  school-boy  on  exhibition  day. 
In  his  hand  he  held  a  large  bunch  of 
purple  flowers,  and  his  face  was  as  red  as 
these. 

"  Asters,"  he  said  clumsily. 

Resel  took  the  flowers,  and  turned  pale 
with  the  sudden  determination  to  get  that 
soup  off  her  mind  at  once. 

Dovid  washed  his  face  and  hands  and 
turned  to  take  his  house-coat.  Ah,  that 
coat !  Resel's  courage  rose. 

"  The  soup,"  she  blurted  out,  and  there 
were  tears  in  her  voice. 

David  turned  in  alarm. 

"  'Twas  fine !  "  he  cried. 

"  Twas  burnt,"  said  Resel. 

"  O,  the  least  bit  scorched,"  said  Dovid. 

"  Scorched !  'twas  burnt  to  a  cinder !  " 
cried  Resel. 

73 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  I — I  like  soup  when  it's  burnt/'  said 
Dovid. 

"  O-o-o-o-oh,  thou  dear,  darling  liar !  " 
and  Resel  flung  herself,  laughing  and  sob 
bing,  on  her  husband's  neck. 

Dovid  strained  her  close  to  his  heart. 
Then  he  lifted  her  moist,  glowing  face,  and 
for  the  first  time  kissed  his  wife  upon  the 
lips. 


74 


Ill 

LOEBELE  SHLEM1EL 


Ill 

LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 

The  trouble  in  telling  the  story  of  a 
Shlemiel  lies  right  in  the  beginning,  for 
immediately  one  asks : '  "  What  is  a  Shle 
miel?  "  That's  the  difficulty.  What  is  a 
Shlemiel? 

Now  Shlemiel  can  be  neither  translated 
nor  defined,  and,  pray,  be  it  known  right 
here:  the  classic  Shlemiel  of  story — one 
Peter  by  name — was  no  Shlemiel  at  all. 
He  was  rich,  and  as  the  saying  goes: 
"  Riches  make  clever  and  handsome."  A 
rich  man  may  at  the  worst  be  shlemielig, 
but  a  Shlemiel — never! 

It  has  been  said  that  a  Shlemiel  is  one 
who  is  bound  to  have  bad  luck,  but  if  you 
will  stop  and  analyze  them,  you  will  find 
that  his  mishaps  are  not  a  matter  of  luck  at 
all.  No,  they  are  due  solely  to — well,  to 
his  own  Shlemieligness. 
77 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

It  has  also  been  said  that  a  Shlemiel  is 
one  whose  bread  always  falls  on  the  but 
tered  side  (which  really  amounts  to  the 
same  thing),  but  this  will  not  do  at  all, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  a  real  Shlemiel 
rarely  has  any  butter  to  his  bread. 

Perhaps  the  best  way  to  learn  what  a 
Shlemiel  is  would  be  to  ask  the  people  of 
the  Gass,  the  home  of  the  true  Shlemielim. 
Well,  let  us  ask. 

"Wie  haisst,— what  is  a  Shlemiel?" 
comes  the  incredulous  reply.  "  Who  is  a 
Shlemiel,  you  wish  to  ask.  Loebele,  he  is 
a  Shlemiel  that  God  have  mercy !  " 

And  Loebele  was  a  Shlemiel;  of  a  pecu 
liar  kind,  too.  His  greatest  misfortunes 
were  due  mainly  to  his  being  always  too 
early;  this  in  spite  of  the  maxim  in  many 
tongues  to  the  effect  that  the  early  bird 
gets  the  worm. 

Only  once  was  Loebele  too  late,  and 
then  it  cost  him  his  life. 

He  began  it  by  coming  into  the  world 

78 


LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 


full  two  months  before  his  time,  which  cost 
his  mother  her  life,  and  left  him  a  charity 
child  upon  the  community.  Along  with 
two  other  orphans,  he  was  given  over  to 
the  charge  of  Muhm  [Aunt]  Shmune,  a 
pious  and  melancholy  widow,  who  taught 
them,  when  they  reached  the  years  of  dis 
cretion, — say  four  or  thereabouts, — many 
serious  things.  Foremost  among  them 
this :  that  nothing  is  so  bitter  as  the  bread 
of  charity,  and  nothing  so  sweet  as  the 
bread  of  one's  own  labor. 

Loebele  pondered  this  matter  gravely, 
and  dreamed  of  the  day  when  he  should 
taste  the  sweetness  of  the  bread  of  his  own 
labor,  but  his  two  companions  ate  the 
bread  of  charity  with  relish,  and  kicked 
their  heels  in  reckless  glee  when  perchance 
there  was  a  scrape  of  butter  on  it. 

Loebele  was  nine  years  old  when  he  took 
his  first  step  toward  independence. 

One  day  he  came  home  from  school  in 
great  excitement  and  announced :  "  Muhm 
79 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Shmune,  thou  needst  buy  but  a  middling- 
sized  loaf  hereafter." 

"  Wie  haisst?  "  said  Muhm  Shmune. 

"  I  have  work,"  said  Loebele,  and  waved 
his  hand  as  one  would  say,  "  Behold,  a  mil 
lionaire  !  " 

"  Reb  Chaim  Melamed  [the  teacher]  has 
got  the  rheumatism,"  he  went  on,  "  and 
when  he  is  through  giving  us  all  our  licks, 
his  arms  are  so  weak  that  he  cannot  move 
the  benches.  I  am  going  to  move  them  for 
him." 

In  explanation  be  it  said,  that  these 
benches  were  the  great,  heavy  ones  upon 
which  the  pupils  "  learned  "  all  day  long, 
but  which  it  was  necessary  to  pile  up  on 
one  side  of  the  room  every  evening,  since 
the  floor-space  they  occupied  was  required 
for  sleeping  and  household  purposes  by 
Reb  Chaim  and  his  family. 

"  Nu,  'tis  time,"  said  Muhm  Shmune. 
"  When  I  was  thy  age  I  earned  not  only 
my  own  clothes  but  also  my  grandmother's 
80 


LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 


by  knitting.  And  what  dost  get?"  she 
asked. 

"  My  breakfast.  Every  day  a  thick  slice 
of  bread,  on  Tuesdays  and  Thursdays  flour- 
soup,  and  on  Sunday  a  piece  of  Barches 
[Sabbath  bread],  if  may-be  there  is  any  left 
over,"  said  Loebele. 

Loebele  soon  became  so  eager  in  this 
service  and  for  the  sweet  bread  that  re 
warded  it,  that  he  was  wont  to  come  too 
early  in  the  morning  to  replace  the 
benches,  long  before  Reb  Chaim  was  up,  in 
fact.  And  one  stormy  winter  day,  he  sat 
so  long  on  the  door-step  waiting  for  the 
Melamed  to  arise,  that  he  was  taken  with 
a  serious  illness,  which  left  him  with  a  nar 
row  chest  and  a  bad  cough  for  the  rest  of 
his  life. 

Loebele  did  very  well  at  his  books,  but 
when  he  reached  man's  estate, — in  other 
words,  when  he  was  thirteen, — he  had  to 
begin  to  earn  his  own  living.  This  was 
no  simple  matter,  for  he  had  no  head  for 
81 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

business,  and  when  they  apprenticed  him  to 
the  tailor  and  to  the  cobbler,  his  masters 
drove  him  away. 

"A  Shlemiel,"  they  said,  "he  is  not 
worth  his  salt." 

Not  that  Loebele  was  not  faithful  and 
eager,  but  his  fingers  were  all  thumbs,  as 
the  saying  goes.  No  one  would  have  him. 

He  remained  longest  with  Moshe  Sad 
dler,  for  Moshe  was  a  patient  man,  and  in  a 
few  years'  time  Loebele  could  splice  a 
broken  rein  or  put  a  patch  on  an  old  saddle 
as  deftly  and  neatly  as  anyone. 

Then  a  great  misfortune  befell. 

Herr  Christian  Vanek's  daughter  had 
married  a  saddler  who  came  to  follow  his 
calling  in  the  village.  There,  to  his  amaze 
ment  and  indignation,  he  found  a  Jew  ply 
ing  the  same  craft.  Holy  Mother  Mary! 
the  impudence  of  the  hound ! 

In  the  province  from  which  the  young 
bridegroom  had  come,  no  Jew  was  permit 
ted  to  work  in  new  leather.  Surely,  his 

82 


LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 


Fatherland  would  not  tolerate  such  an 
abomination.  There  was  no  doubt  but 
that  Moshe  Saddler  was  a  law-breaker. 
The  young  man  appealed  to  the  courts. 
They  promised  to  investigate;  and  al 
though  Moshe,  and  his  father  before  him, 
had  made  saddles  in  the  village  for  thirty 
years  or  more,  this  business  was  now  for 
bidden  him,  until  such  time  as  the  courts 
should  decide  whether  it  was  lawful  or  not. 

So  Moshe  was  reduced  to  working  only 
in  old  leather,  mending  harnesses  and 
whips.  There  was  not  work  enough  for 
himself,  let  alone  a  helper,  and  Loebele 
was  in  sorry  straits. 

Then  Reb  Chaim,  the  teacher,  who  re 
mained  Loebele's  life-long  friend,  had  an 
idea. 

"  Thou  art  now  a  man,  Loeb/'  he  said 
one  day.  "  Why  dost  not  get  married?  " 

"  Married?  "  said  Loebele,  with  a  modest 
shrug.  "  Who  would  take  me  for  a  son-in- 
law?  " 

83 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 


"Pah!"  cried  Reb  Chaim.  "Shtuss! 
Thou  art  a  whole  man.  I  know  a  maiden 
for  thee.  She  is  the  daughter  of  my  cousin, 
Yitzchok  Bauer.  A  fine  girl,  and  she  has  a 
dowry  of  three  hundred  Gulden.  With  the 
money  thou  canst  buy  a  little  business,  and 
sit  in  a  store  the  rest  of  thy  days,  and  live 
like  the  pious  in  Gan  Eden  [Paradise]." 

Loebele  rubbed  his  chin  thoughtfully. 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  maiden,"  he  said, 
"  she  is  not  so  young." 

"  But  what  a  housekeeper !  A  pearl,  I 
tell  thee !  "  said  Reb  Chaim. 

"  Also,  she  is  cross-eyed,"  said  Loebele. 

"The  le-e-ast  bit  cross-eyed;  otherwise, 
a  lily!" 

"  'Tis  said  of  her  she  has  a  bitter 
tongue,"  said  Loebele. 

"  Nu,  and  if !  "  cried  Reb  Chaim,  angrily. 
"  If  she  were  a  first-class  match,  would  she 
wait  for  such  a  Shlemiel  as  thou?" 

Loebele  was  not  insulted. 

"  What's  true  is  true,"  he  mused. 
84 


LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 


He  visited  Yitzchok  Bauer.  The  match 
was  soon  made.  On  the  whole,  he  felt 
flattered  that  a  solid  Balbos  [householder] 
should  accept  him  as  a  son-in-law;  and  So- 
rel,  the  maiden,  was  very  willing. 

Then,  on  a  pleasant  day  in  autumn, 
Loebele  started  off  for  the  farm,  where 
dwelt  that  solid  Balbos,  Yitzchok  Bauer, 
and  Sorel  his  daughter,  for  the  next  day 
was  the  wedding.  When  he  arrived,  his 
betrothed  greeted  him  with  a  surprised, 
"  Nu?  " 

"  Sorel,  my  life,"  said  Loebele,  "  to-mor 
row  ! — Is  it  not  our  wedding  day?  " 

Sorel  clasped  her  hands  in  utter  dis 
gust. 

"  Shlemiel  "  she  cried.  "  Not  to-morrow 
—next  Tuesday." 

Loebele  was  abashed  He  had  come  a 
week  too  soon.  Yitzchok  Bauer  tore  his 
hair  at  the  thought  of  his  future 
son-in-law. 

"Not     one     Behemah     [animal]/'     he 

85 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

growled  to  himself,  "  nay,  he  is  a  whole 
menagerie." 

Loebele  offered  to  go  home  and  return 
again  in  a  week,  but  Yitzchok  Bauer  sud 
denly  became  afraid. 

"  The  Lord  only  knows  what  new  Shle- 
mieligness  he  will  commit  between  now 
and  then,"  he  thought;  "  perhaps,  God  for 
bid,  he  will  not  turn  up  at  all." 

It  had  been  a  long  hunt  to  find  Sorel  a 
husband  and — "  This  Tuesday  is  as  good  as 
next,"  said  Yitzchok.  "  Why  need  you 
wait?  Sorel  will  bake  a  Barches,  and  I'll 
go  for  the  rabbi." 

So  they  were  married  next  day. 

Two  days  later  Yitzchok  Bauer's  barns 
burned  down,  and  with  them  went  his  stock 
and  his  whole  harvest.  He  was  a  ruined 
man.  He  could  not  pay  his  lease  money, 
much  less  a  dowry;  so  Loebele  had  an  old, 
cross-eyed,  ill-tempered  wife,  and  was 
poorer  than  ever. 

Moreover  the  people  laughed  at  him. 
86 


LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 


"  A  Shlemiel !  "  they  said,  "  why  is  he  al 
ways  in  such  a  hurry?  " 

But  Loebele  let  them  laugh.  He  carried 
his  round  shoulders  straighter  than  ever 
before.  Was  he  not  himself  now  a  Balbos? 
As  to  Sorel,  "  Though  without  a  dower, 
though  a  little  old  and  a  little  sour  and  a 
little  cross-eyed,  she  is  like  unto  her  of 
whom  it  is  written,  '  Her  candle  goeth  not 
out  by  night/  "  he  mused.  Nor  had  he  any 
fear  for  the  future,  for  Loebele's  strength 
was  his  faith. 

'  Though  I  am  poor  and  needy,  yet  the 
Lord  thinketh  on  me/  as  it  is  written,"  he 
said,  and  was  a  happy  man. 

Time  went  by.  The  little  ones  came 
thick  and  fast.  Loebele  worked  faithfully 
at  everything  he  could  find  to  do,  yet  he 
could  not  earn  enough  to  feed  their  ever 
hungry  mouths. 

One  bitter  winter  Loebele's  distress  be 
came  so  keen  that  the  Gass  felt  it  time  to 
interfere. 

87 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  Shema,  the  misery  of  it !  One  cannot 
sleep  at  night  for  hearing  his  little  ones 
wail  with  hunger,"  said  the  neighbors. 

There  were  those  who  said  that  Loebele 
burned  twigs  in  his  stove,  that  the  people, 
seeing  the  smoke  arise,  might  think  they 
were  cooking  dinner.  Something  must  be 
done,  the  Gass  decided — but  what?  Loe 
bele  would  not  borrow,  and  when  they  left 
a  loaf  or  a  pot  of  meal  on  his  door-step,  he 
would  carry  it  to  the  poor-authorities,  say 
ing  gravely;  "  Someone  must  have  lost  it. 
If  the  owner  cannot  be  found,  let  it  be 
given  to  the  poor." 

It  was  Anshel  the  peddler  who  finally 
had  an  idea. 

"  People,"  he  said  one  day,  "  I  have  it ! 
We  will  make  Loebele's  fortune,  please 
God,  and  yet  not  hurt  his  pride.  There  is 
to  be  a  sale  of  old  Government  leather  at 
the  garrison  next  week.  I  have  looked  it 
over,  a  nice  lot  of  leather; — and  I  know  the 
quartermaster; — a  golden  quartermaster; 

88 


LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 


— for  one  hundred  Gulden  cash  he  will  let 
me  have  it.  What  think  you,  can  we  get 
together  one  hundred  Gulden?  " 

"  Why  can  we  not?  "  said  the  men. 

"  Good !  We  will  buy  the  leather,  and 
give  it  to  Loebele — as  a  loan,  of  course. 
He  can  pay  it  back  as  he  pleases.  There  is 
enough  leather  there  to  make  harnesses 
for  a  whole  province.  If  he  handles  it 
right,  his  fortune  is  made." 

Reb  Chaim,  as  Loebele's  closest  friend, 
was  delegated  to  make  him  the  offer,  and 
Loebele  accepted  with  tears  of  gratitude. 
And  that  he  might  be  put  at  once  in  the 
way  of  earning  something,  they  planned  to 
make  purchases  as  soon  as  he  should  be 
in  possession  of  the  leather. 

"  I  know  two  farmers  who  will  buy  old 
saddles,"  said  Anshel. 

"  I  shall  order  a  harness,"  said  Yermah, 
the  teamster. 

"  I  can  use  some  of  the  leather  in  my 
shop,"  said  Mendel,  the  cobbler. 

89 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  I  also,"  said  Shmul,  the  book-binder. 

The  Gass  rejoiced,  for  at  last  Loebele 
was  in  a  fair  way  to  become  prosperous  and 
everyone  was  happy; — that  is,  everyone 
save  Loebele.  From  the  day  that  he  had 
taken  the  one  hundred  Gulden  debt  upon 
himself,  peace  had  fled  him. 

"  Was  iss  der  Mahr?  "  said  the  people. 
"  He  goes  about  with  a  face  like  seven 
days'  rainy  weather." 

Loebele  could  not  eat,  and  he  could  not 
sleep.  Like  a  huge  mountain  the  weight 
of  the  debt  lay  upon  him,  and  threatened 
to  crush  him. 

"  Woe  is  me ! — one  hundred  Gulden !  " 
he  moaned.  "And  what  if  I  cannot  sell  the 
leather?  And  if  perchance  I  fall  sick  and 
die, — to  leave  my  poor  family  with  such  a 
debt.  Woe  is  me !  " 

Early  in  the  morning,  before  yet  the 
leather  had  been  delivered  to  Loebele, 
Reb  Chaim  found  him  standing  outside  his 
90 


LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 


door,  clutching  something  tightly  in  his 
hand. 

"  I've  got  it,"  said  Loebele,  delightedly. 

"  What?  " 

"  The  money." 

"  The  money?  "  gasped  Reb  Chaim. 

"  I  have  made  a  good  business,  thank 
God,"  said  Loebele.  "I  have  sold  the 
leather; — here  is  the  money,  and  I  have  a 
nice  little  profit  beside." 

"  Thou  hast  sold  it?  "  cried  Reb  Chaim. 

"  For  one  hundred  and  six  Gulden,"  said 
Loebele,  proudly. 

"Chammer  [ass]!"  shrieked  Reb 
Chaim.  "  It  was  worth  three  times  the 
money." 

Loebele  threw  out  his  hands  in  protest. 

"  Reb  Chaim,"  he  said,  "  would  you  have 
me  be  a  usurer?  Six  per  cent  is  all  that  is 
allowed.  I  have  often  heard  our  old  Rav— 
peace  be  to  him — say  it; — more  than  six 
per  cent  is  usury." 

91 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

The  Gasa  was  disgusted  and  enraged  be 
side. 

"  The  Shlemiel !  "  they  said.  "  Now  we 
are  done  with  him." 

But  Loebele  was  at  peace  with  himself  in 
the  thought  of  having  done  righteously. 
Three  times  every  day  he  went  to  the  syna 
gogue,  and  when  he  sang,  "  The  righteous 
shall  inherit  the  land,"  his  heart  grew  light. 
In  his  mind's  eye  he  already  saw  himself 
owner  of  a  little  shop  and  earning  three 
Gulden  a  week;  which  was  Loebele's  in 
terpretation  of  the  text.  But  he  was  a  long 
time  coming  into  his  inheritance,  even  into 
the  smallest  part  thereof.  In  fact,  things 
grew  even  worse. 

There  was  no  errand  so  wearisome  that 
he  would  not  undertake  it;  there  was  no 
load  so  heavy  that  he  would  not  carry  it. 
He  hurried  about  with  frantic  eagerness 
from  morning  until  night,  yet  hunger  al 
ways  kept  many  paces  ahead.  But  Loe 
bele's  faith  did  not  waver. 
92 


LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 


"  The  Lord  will  help,  in  His  own  good 
time,"  he  said. 

Thus  another  year  went  by,  and  then 
came  the  day  of  his  reward. 

One  hot  summer  afternoon,  as  Loebele 
was  tramping  the  streets  in  search  of  work, 
he  came  upon  a  stranger  who  asked  to  be 
directed  to  the  rabbi,  since  he  was  ill  and  in 
need  of  help.  Loebele  took  him  to  the 
Schlafstatt  [the  shelter  for  poor  travellers], 
and  there  they  made  him  comfortable. 
The  stranger  then  laid  bare  to  Loebele  all 
his  distress.  He  was  on  his  way  to  the 
Great  Annual  Fair  in  Rodow,  whither  he 
was  going  on  business.  He  had  come  a 
great  distance,  but  now,  alas,  he  was  sick. 
He  had  not  enough  money  to  take  him 
back  home.  If  he  could  but  sell  his  wares, 
he  would  return  home,  and  all  would  be 
well.  And  what  had  he  to  sell?  See! — 
and  he  opened  a  large  paste-board  box  and 
disclosed  to  Loebele's  delighted  gaze  two 
hundred  or  more  toy  watches. 
93 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  Behold !  "  said  the  stranger.  "  At  ten 
paces  one  would  swear  they  are  of  real 
silver.  With  this  little  key  one  can  effect 
that  these  little  hands  leap  about  the  face — 
quite  like  a  real  watch,  thus; — and  do  but 
hear  how  delightfully  it  screeches  thereto." 

Loebele  was  entranced.  Never  had  he 
seen  anything  so  charming. 

"  How  much  do  you  get  for  them?  "  he 
asked. 

"  One  asks  twenty-five  Kreuzers; — one 
takes  what  one  can  get,"  said  the  stranger. 
"  Their  real  value  I  do  not  know.  They 
fell  to  my  father-in-law  with  a  mortgage. 
I  would  sell  them  gladly,  the  whole  job  lot, 
for  ten  Gulden; — moreover,  he  who  would 
buy  them  would  be  doing  a  great  Mitzwah 
[pious  deed],  for  then  I  could  return  home 
to  my  family." 

Loebele  fairly  thrilled  with  the  great  idea 
that  possessed  him.  Why  should  not  he 
borrow  ten  Gulden, — it  would  be  but  for 
a  few  days, — buy  the  toy  watches,  and  sell 

94 


LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 


them  at  the  Fair?  At  ten  Kreuzers  a  piece 
it  would  be  a  fine  business.  At  twenty-five, 
— and  Loebele's  thoughts  fairly  reeled  at 
the  grandeur  of  the  prospect.  Moreover 
he  need  have  no  scruples  about  per  cents. 

"  One  takes  what  one  can  get; — the  real 
value  is  not  known."  As  to  the  stranger, 
he  himself  said  it  would  be  a  Mitzwah  to 
relieve  him  of  them. 

Loebele  hurried  to  Reb  Chaim  to  unfold 
his  plan  and  borrow  ten  Gulden.  Then  he 
bought  the  watches,  and  hurried  home  in 
high  spirits. 

"  When  I  return,"  said  he  to  his  wife, 
"  I  shall  buy  thee  a  new  cooking-pot  that 
thou  mayest  at  last  be  done  with  thy  com 
plaining." 

"  And  thou,  Mirl,"  he  said  to  his  daugh 
ter,  "  thee  I  shall  buy  flannel  for  a  petti 
coat.  And  thee,  Yossel,  I  shall  buy  a  pair 
of  shoes, — the  best  second-hand  shoes  in 
the  market, — that  thou  mayest  go  to 
school  even  in  the  coldest  weather.  And 
95 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

we  shall  have  baked  potatoes  every  night 
for  supper — ' 

"  With  butter?  "  gasped  little  Hirshele, 
who  was  a  fanciful  child. 

"  Ha,"  laughed  Loebele,  "  hear  the  little 
impudence !  He  has  not  yet  the  potatoes, 
and  wishes  already  butter  thereto." 

It  was  yet  three  days  until  the  opening 
of  the  Fair,  but  Loebele  started  off  early 
next  morning,  for  he  was  going  to  walk, 
and  moreover  he  was  always  on  time. 

The  sun  was  hot,  and  the  roads  lay  deep 
in  dust,  but  he  trudged  on  in  great  content. 

"  The  Lord  helps, — I  have  always  said 
it, — a  little  patience  only,"  he  mused. 

Pictures  of  the  future  loomed  bright  be 
fore  him,  and  the  fairest  one  was  his  son 
Yossel  with  shoes  on,  that  he  might  go  to 
school  even  in  the  coldest  weather,  and  be 
come  some  day — who  knows? — chief-rabbi 
of  Prague. 

It  was  the  day  of  the  opening  of  the  Fair 
when  Loebele  with  a  great  crowd  of  people 

96 


LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 


arrived  at  its  gates.  He  was  crowding  in 
with  the  rest,  when  he  felt  himself  thrust 
violently  in  the  side.  It  was  the  butt  end 
of  a  gensdarme's  gun,  and  the  gensdarme 
himself  was  crying  roughly,  "  Can't  he 
read?  "  and  pointing  to  a  placard.  There, 
at  the  foot  of  a  list  of  admonitions  to  the 
public,  Loebele  read  in  large  letters : 

DOGS  AND  JEWS  ARE  NOT  ALLOWED  WITHIN. 

Loebele  stared  open-mouthed.  For  a 
moment  he  thought  he  should  fall.  He 
stepped  aside  and  sat  down  by  the  road 
side.  What  had  happened?  His  mind  was 
dazed  with  the  suddenness  of  the  shock. 
He  could  not  go  within;  he  dared  not  ped 
dle  without;  he  could  not  sell  his  watches. 
He  gazed  at  the  throngs  of  people  passing 
in  at  the  gates,  all  laughing,  joking,  happy. 
None  worried  them;  none  hindered  them; 
and  slowly  the  misery  of  his  plight  dawned 
upon  him.  They  worked  and  earned  un 
hindered.  He  was  barred  out  like  a  dog. 

97 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Their  children  need  not  go  hungry  and 
barefoot.  He  also  had  little  ones,  and  they 
were  waiting  for  him  and  watching, — but 
he  would  bring  no  petticoat  for  Mirl;  no 
shoes  for  Yossel; — and  Hirshele,  hungry 
little  Hirshele,  no  potatoes  with  butter  for 
him, — nay,  nothing,  not  even  dry  bread. 

"  Why  is  it  thus,  O  Lord?  "  he  moaned. 
Had  he  not  ever  striven  to  do  righteously? 
Had  he  ever  wittingly  wronged  God  or 
man?  His  heart  was  full  of  bitterness,  and 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  his  faith,  even 
Loebele  Shlemiel's  faith,  grew  weak. 

"  Perchance  the  Lord  has  forgotten 
me,"  he  mourned.  "  Perchance  He  has 
grown  tired  of  helping  me.  Can  one  blame 
Him?  Such  a  Shlemiel!  For  thirty  years 
we  Jews  have  been  doing  business  at  the 
Fair,  and  when  I  come — it  is  forbidden !  " 

And  then  he  laid  his  tired  head  upon  his 
knees,  and  bitter  tears  ran  down  his  cheeks 
and  into  his  grizzled  beard. 

It  was  evening  when  he  roused  himself 
98 


LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 


and  began  his  homeward  journey.  He  had 
eaten  nothing  that  day.  There  was  noth 
ing  left  of  the  bread  and  cheese  which  he 
had  brought  from  home,  and  he  had  not 
a  single  Kreuzer;  but  this  did  not  alarm 
him.  He  was  used  to  fasting,  and  he  would 
probably  get  along  very  well  until  he 
reached  home. 

He  did  not  go  far  that  evening,  for  he 
was  weary  and  sore  and  heartsick,  so  he  lay 
down  in  a  hedge  to  sleep.  When  he  awoke 
it  was  morning,  and  the  hot  sun  was  beat 
ing  fiercely  down  upon  him.  Loebele  said 
his  prayers,  drank  at  a  brook,  and  started 
again  on  his  journey,  but  the  constant 
walking  and  the  nights  in  the  open  air  had 
greatly  sharpened  his  appetite.  He  could 
not  conceal  from  himself  that  he  was  very 
hungry.  He  had  no  money,  and  if  he  had 
had  any  it  would  have  availed  him  nothing. 
The  town  lay  several  miles  behind  him.  He 
knew  of  no  Jewish  house  in  that  neighbor 
hood,  and  food  from  a  Gentile  was  forbid- 
99 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

den.  It  occurred  to  him  presently  that  per 
haps  he  could  exchange  one  of  his  toy 
watches  for  a  couple  of  eggs,  which  he 
dared  eat. 

At  the  first  farm  where  he  asked,  they 
laughed  and  told  him  they  had  no  use  for 
toy  watches.  At  the  next  the  woman  said 
she  had  no  eggs,  but  when  she  saw  how 
pallid  and  weary  he  looked,  she  brought 
him  a  piece  of  bread.  Loebele  devoured 
the  bread  with  his  hungry  eyes,  but  he 
shook  his  head; — he  dared  not  eat  it.  Who 
knows  but  that  it  was  made  with  pig's 
fat?  It  was  Trefa  [forbidden].  He 
thanked  the  woman  and  went  on.  At  the 
next  farm  a  man  cursed  him,  and  said  that 
no  doubt  he  had  stolen  the  watches.  Loe 
bele  hurried  on  frightened  and  abashed. 
He  had  no  spirit  left  to  try  again. 

Night  was  again  approaching.  Another 
day  gone,  and  he  had  not  yet  broken  his 
fast.  His  thoughts  went  back  constantly 
to  the  piece  of  bread  he  had  refused  in  the 

100 


LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 


morning.  He  remembered  that  once  a 
poor  peddler  had  come  to  the  rabbi  in  great 
distress,  and  told  him  that  some  soldiers 
had  made  him  eat  pork  at  the  point  of  the 
sword.  The  peddler  was  in  great  distress 
of  soul,  but  the  rabbi  said  that  this  sin 
would  not  be  counted  against  him,  since  it 
is  written  that  when  in  danger  of  death,  it 
is  permitted  even  to  eat  Trefa. 

Loebele  quite  made  up  his  mind  to  go 
back  and  ask  for  that  piece  of  bread.  Was 
not  he  also  in  danger  of  death?  Then  he 
smiled  to  himself  more  confidently.  Nay, 
one  does  not  die  so  easily.  It  is  said  of  one 
of  the  pious  of  olden  times,  that  he  ate  but 
two  dates  and  one  olive  daily,  and  he, 
Loebele,  had  eaten  bread  but  two  days  ago. 
No.  he  would  wait  until  morning;  per 
chance  something  would  turn  up,  and 
again  he  slept  in  the  open. 

When  he  arose  next  day  to  resume  his 
journey,  he  found  his  legs  grown  so  heavy 
that  he  could  hardly  drag  them.  His  head 
101 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

throbbed  madly;  and  when  he  walked,  all 
the  world  seemed  to  reel.  There  was  no 
house  in  sight,  but  not  far  down  the  road 
was  the  beginning  of  a  forest.  Loebele 
thought  he  might  find  berries  there,  and  he 
dragged  himself  to  it;  but  the  forest  ground 
was  bare  as  an  empty  threshing  floor.  The 
coolness  of  it  was  pleasant  however,  and  he 
rested  there  awhile.  When  he  arose  to  go, 
he  could  not  remember  which  way  he  had 
come.  No  opening  was  visible  anywhere. 
He  wandered  about  hither  and  thither. 
Often  he  stopped  to  rest.  As  soon  as  he 
was  seated,  he  slept  and  dreamed  of  moun 
tains  of  bread  and  rivers  of  clear,  cool  wa 
ter. 

"  This  will  never  do,"  he  thought,  rous 
ing  himself.  "  I  must  get  home  and  to 
work — else  how  pay  that  debt?  " 

He  took  up  his  box  and  walked  furious 
ly, — for  miles  and  miles  it  seemed.  Then 
it  occurred  to  him  that  perhaps  he  was 
dreaming,  and  he  opened  his  eyes  to  find 
102 


LOEBELE  SHLEMIEL 


that  he  had  been  standing  quite  still,  and 
was  leaning  heavily  against  a  tree. 

It  was  late  in  an  afternoon,  but  he 

knew  not  of  what  day,  when  he  at  last  saw 
a  clearing,  and  found  himself  on  the  road. 
But  all  was  strange  to  him.  It  was  not  the 
road  by  which  he  had  come.  About  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  away  was  a  farm-house. 
Loebele  determined  to  go  there  and  beg 
for  food. 

"  '  When  in  danger  of  death/  as  it  is 
written.  I  can  no  longer,  O  Lord,"  he 
cried  in  his  heart;  "it  is  time  now, — it  is 
time." 

As  he  reached  the  gate  of  the  house  his 
foot  struck  a  root.  He  staggered  and 
fell — and  suddenly  a  great  peace  came 
upon  him; — hunger  and  thirst  and  weari 
ness,  all  were  fled. 

"  It  is  pleasant  here,"  thought  Loebele, 
"  I  think  I'll  sleep  a  little." 

It  was  Yitzchok  Bauer's  gate  at  which 
103 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

he  had  fallen  down,  and  in  the  morning 
they  found  him. 

"A  Shlemiel,  nebbich  [poor  fellow]," 
said  the  people,  "  to  die  of  starvation  at  his 
own  father-in-law's  door-step." 

"  He  was  gone  only  six  hours  when  the 
notice  came  that  we  Jews  would  no  longer 
be  allowed  to  do  business  at  the  Fair.  Such 
a  Shlemiel,  nebbich — always  too  early !  " 

"  Nay,  this  time  for  once  he  was  too 
late,"  said  Reb  Chaim:  "  For  thirty  years 
we  Jews  have  been  doing  business  there, 
and  when  Loebele  came,  it  was  forbidden. 
A  Shlemiel,  nebbich !  " 

But  it  was  foolish  to  pity  him,  for  Loe 
bele  was  at  rest.  The  Lord  had  not  for 
gotten  him.  The  Lord  had  looked  down, 
and  had  had  compassion  on  him.  Yes,  he 
had  his  reward.  His  troubles  now  were 
over.  Loebele  slept. 


104 


IV 
A  SINNER  IN  ISRAEL 


IV 

A  SINNER  IN  ISRAEL 

There  are  various  ways  of  gaining 
prominence  in  the  Gass,  and  a  good  way 
is  to  die.  If  you  cannot  be  a  dead  man,  be 
a  sick  one;  failing  in  that,  be  his  nurse. 

Now  prominence  had  come  unto  the 
house  of  Hendel  the  feather-woman  in  two 
of  these  excellent  forms.  Shaye  Soldat, 
her  lodger,  was  a  sick  man,  and  Hendel 
herself  was  his  nurse.  And  Hendel  had 
the  better  of  it,  too,  for  when  one  is  sick, 
one  must  lie  abed,  and  the  doctor  forbids 
all  visitors,  as  is  the  new-fangled  notion, 
though  it  is  well  known  that  not  only  is  it 
a  pious  deed,  but  a  religious  duty,  to  visit 
the  sick.  So  Shaye  was  alone, — and  where, 
pray,  is  the  joy  of  fame  if  one  may  not 
strut? — but  Hendel  walked  abroad,  and, 
107 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

when  she  did  so,  all  the  Gass  rushed  forth 
to  greet  her. 

"  Good  morning,  Hendel.  Nu,  what 
does  the  Doctor  say?  " 

"How's  business,  Hendel?  What 
thinkest  thou,  will  he  live?" 

Hendel's  chin  sought  the  air.  Not  that 
she  was  proud.  Nay,  God  forbid !  None 
can  say  that  Hendel  Federschleisserin, 
who  lived  by  stripping  feathers  for  the 
beds  of  the  rich,  was  proud,  but  she  was  hu 
man.  Ordinarily  of  no  more  consequence 
in  Maritz  than  a  stray  kitten,  on  this  par 
ticular  Sunday  morning  her  progress  to  the 
butcher  shop  was  as  marked  by  polite  at 
tentions  as  if  she  had  been  the  Rav  [rabbi] 
himself. 

"  See  how  grossartig!  " 

"  Has  Hendel  won  the  grand  prize?  " 

"  Why  dost  not  answer  when  one 
speaks?  " 

"  Esoi,"  said  Hendel,  languidly,  and 
shook  them  off  like  flies — all  save  one  small 
108 


A  SINNER  IN  ISRAEL 


boy  named  Shimmele,  who  glued  himself 
fast  to  her  heels,  for  Shimmele  was  his 
grandmother's  news-bearer, — and  a  soldier, 
a  sick  one,  was  a  tasty  bit,  not  to  be 
dropped  so  lightly. 

Hendel  entered  Machel  Katzev's  shop, 
Shimmele  close  behind. 

"  A  nice  marrow-bone,"  said  Hendel. 

"  For  soup?  "  growled  Machel. 

"  Nay,  broth." 

Now,  Machel  was  a  man  not  to  be 
treated  with  scorn,  one  with  a  habit  of 
dropping  absently  bits  of  liver  and  nibs  of 
sausage  into  poor  women's  baskets.  So 
when  he  asked, — 

"  Nu,  how  is  he?  "  Hendel  replied  polite 
ly  by  rolling  her  eyes  toward  the  rafters, 
throwing  out  her  hands,  and  groaning  dis 
mally,  whereat  Machel  said  "  Ai,  wai  !— 
hm — hm !  "  and  Shimmele  rushed  home  to 
tell  his  granny  the  worst. 

And  Shimmele's  report  was  a  true  one. 
Shaye  Soldat — sometime  soldier,  all-time 
109 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

sinner,  fourteen  years'  service,  two  cam 
paigns,  a  leather  medal,  and  a  wooden  leg 
— lay  a-dying.  This  Hendel  fully  corrobor 
ated  as,  on  her  homeward  way,  she  stopped 
in  Mendel  the  cobbler's  shop.  And  the 
Gass  saw  the  justice  of  Hendel's  preference 
in  the  matter. 

"  Mendel  has  a  right  to  know,"  said  they, 
for  though  the  sick  man  owed  Hendel  five 
Gulden  twenty  for  lodging,  he  owed  Men 
del  two  Gulden  fifty  for  Sabbath  dinners, 
and  Mendel  was  thus  counted  next  of  kin. 

"  Up  to  here  the  water  is  already,"  Hen- 
del  was  saying,  indicating  her  own  thick 
waist.  "  When  it  will  have  reached  the 
heart,  then  is  the  end.  Eisak  Schulklopfer 
sits  with  him — one  leg  he  has  out  of  the 
door  ready  to  run  for  the  Chevra  [Holy 
Brotherhood,  a  society  which  attends  the 
dying]  at  any  moment.  The  Kelef  [hound] ! 
'Tis  out  of  pure  wickedness  he  is  dying.  Not 
one  Kreuzer  has  he  paid  me  in  half  a  year. 
Does  he  think  I  find  money  on  the  street? 
110 


A  SINNER  IN  ISRAEL 


A  disease  in  his  bones,  the  Ganef  [rascal] !" 
with  which  pious  though  superfluous  wish 
she  betook  herself  homeward,  there  to  con 
vert  her  nice  marrow-bone  into  broth  for 
her  sick  lodger,  who,  though  a  great  sin 
ner,  was,  after  all,  a  "  Jewish  child,"  whom 
one  cannot  allow  to  go  to  destruction. 

At  the  angle  of  the  street,  where  the 
Gass  tries  for  a  moment  to  close  upon  itself 
like  a  jack-knife,  she  was  run  into  by  a  hur 
ricane,  of  which,  as  it  whirled  around  the 
corner,  she  recognized  Eisak  Schulklopfer's 
brown  coat-tails  and  green  pantofles. 

Hendel  stood  still  and  held  her  breath, 
and  in  a  moment  they  were  upon  her, — 
Reb  Noach  Fingerhut  and  Loser  Pereles, 
Reb  Shlome  Wineseller  and  Loebele 
Shlemiel, — all  pacing  down  the  street  as 
though  it  were  a  footrace,  the  goal  a  cer 
tain  cleft  in  a  wall,  down  which  they  briskly 
dodged. 

"  The  Chevra !  "  gasped  Hendel  at  sight 
of  this,  for  the  cleft  in  the  wall  led  to  one 
ill 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

place  only,  and  that  was  Hendel's  house. 
Then  she  made  after  them  at  the  top  of  her 
speed. 

When  she  reached  home,  the  Holy 
Brotherhood  was  already  busied  with  prep 
arations  for  the  prayers  for  the  dying, 
though  Shlome  Wineseller,  a  death-bed  ex 
pert,  grumbled  skeptically  as  he  lit  a  can 
dle,  "  He  groans  me  too  strong  for  a  dy 
ing  man." 

The  sick  man,  indeed,  lay  uttering  pitiful 
groans,  while  streams  of  tears  ran  down  his 
cheeks.  At  sight  of  Heridel  he  brightened, 
and  began  to  mutter  something.  Hendel 
hurried  to  his  side. 

"  Why  dost  thou  weep,  Shaye  Leben?  " 
she  soothed.  "  Wouldst  not  like  a  bit  of 
something  to  eat?  " 

The  sick  man  nodded  vigorously. 

"A  spoonful  of  gruel!  No?  I  have  a 
beautiful  bone  for  broth.  Not  that,  either? 
What  then?" 

Shaye  spoke,  but  so  feebly  that  Hendel 
112 


A  SINNER  IN  ISRAEL 


had  to  bend  low  to  hear.  Then  suddenly 
she  started  up,  her  eyes  glaring  wildly, 
and  began  to  back  nervously  toward  the 
door. 

"  What  is  the  matter?  "  cried  the  Chevra. 

"  Shema ! — Wai  geschrieen ! — Help,  peo 
ple  !  "  was  all  that  Hendel  could  gasp. 

Reb  Noach,  as  president  of  the  Holy 
Brotherhood,  felt  it  his  duty  to  investigate. 
He  hurried  to  the  bedside. 

"  What  is  it,  Shaye  Soldat?  "  he  asked. 

Again  the  sick  man  spoke,  and  Reb 
Noach  bent  over  him  to  hear. 

Now  it  is  known  of  Reb  Noach  that  he 
weighs  two  hundred  odd  pounds,  also  that 
he  has  a  club-foot,  yet  all  the  Chevra  is 
witness  that  at  this  moment  he  leapt  nimb 
ly  as  any  ballet  girl  clear  across  the  room 
to  the  door,  out  of  which  he  dashed  as 
briskly  as  a  young  goat.  The  Holy  Broth 
erhood  followed  at  his  heels. 

"  What  has  happened?  What  is  the 
matter?  " 

113 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  Meshugge  [crazy] ! "  gasped  Reb 
Noach,  striking  his  forehead — "  stark,  star 
ing  mad !  He  desires  to  eat — hear,  Jewish 
children ! — what  do  you  think  he  desires  to 
eat?  " 

"  What?  " 

"  A  piece  of  salt  pork !  " 

The  panic  flashed  to  the  four  winds  of 
heaven.  In  a  moment  the  horrible  rumor 
was  through  the  Gass. 

"  God  have  mercy !  Thus  dies  a  sinner. 
Have  you  not  heard?  Wholly,  entirely 
meshugge.  He  lies  on  his  bed  and  is 
shrieking  that  he  desires  to  eat  a  pig !  " 

What  was  to  be  done?  In  such  an  ex 
tremity  there  is  but  one  can  help,  and  that 
is  the  doctor.  And  Doctor  Pinkus  was  just 
the  man — though  small  of  body  yet  in 
trepid  of  soul — as  witness :  not  only  did  he 
walk  boldly  into  the  madman's  room,  but, 
having  held  his  pulse  and  felt  his  legs,  he 
said  as  calmly  as  one  would  say  "  Gut 
Shabbes,"  "  Let  him  have  his  bit  of  salt 
114 


A  SINNER  IN  ISRAEL 


pork," — for  Shaye  still  lay  wailing  and 
moaning :  "  A  bit — a  morsel — just  a  taste 
of  salt  pork." 

The  Holy  "Brotherhood  was  petrified 
with  horror. 

"  What !    Aid  and  abet  him  in  his  sin?  " 

"  You  see  he  is  not  responsible,"  said  the 
Doctor. 

"  So  much  the  worse — the  sin  would 
then  be  on  us." 

"  Let  that  be  my  care.  The  sin  I  take 
upon  myself,"  said  the  Doctor. 

"  He  would  never  forgive  us  if  he  knew." 

The  Doctor  only  laughed.  "  He  has 
been  such  a  big  Trefa-Fresser  [eater  of 
the  unclean]  all  his  life  that  the  Lord  will 
not  even  notice  this  little  bit  in  the  pile." 

"Never!"  cried  the  Chevra:  "No!" 
and  "Never!" 

"  Then    good-by — and    to-morrow    you 

can  bury  him.     He  cannot  last  long  if  he 

keeps  up  this  racket.    Give  him  but  a  little 

peace,  and  he  may  yet  pull  through.     So 

115 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

long  as  there  is  life  there  is  hope,"  said  the 
Doctor,  for  of  such  is  the  wisdom  of  men  of 
science. 

So  the  voice  of  authority  prevailed.  It 
was  decided  to  let  the  madman  have  his  de 
sire.  On  Eisak  Schulklopfer — unwilling  a- 
gent  for  all  the  disagreeable  errands  of  the 
Gass — was  put  the  awful  task,  and  amidst 
groans  and  tears  he  repaired  to  the  Chris 
tian  inn,  there  to  procure  the  disgusting 
morsel,  while  the  Gass  waited  with  bated 
breath  for  the  earth  to  open  and  swallow 
them. 

"  He  is  bringing  It,"  went  the  rumor. 

"  In  Hendel's  broken  Sabbath  pot." 

"The  milchigone?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Woe  is  me !  " 

"  He  has  taken  It  into  the  house." 

"  The  Doctor  has  handed  It  to  Shaye." 

"  He  has  eaten  of  It." 

"Shema!— and  is  dead?" 

"  Usser,"  reported  Eisak,  "  not  he — on 

116 


A  SINNER  IN  ISRAEL 


the  contrary,  he  is  sleeping,  and  very  well, 
too.  Let  him  who  doubts  it  listen  at  the 
door,  and  he  will  hear  him  snoring." 

This,  in  fact,  was  the  truth  of  the  matter. 
Shaye,  having  eaten  of  the  salt  pork,  be 
came  filled  with  a  great  calm,  and,  curling 
himself  up  in  his  bed,  went  peacefully  to 
sleep.  And  not  only  did  he  survive,  but  he 
grew  rapidly  better,  until  in  a  month's  time 
he  was  fully  recovered,  and  was  loafing 
again  in  his  favorite  spot — the  bench  in 
front  of  Mendel  Schuster's  shop. 

But  Shaye  was  now  a  man  to  blink  at — 
one  of  whom  the  Gass  said  in  horror,  "  May 
God  defend  everyone  from  the  Makkes 
[beating]  which  will  be  his  portion  in  the 
Hereafter." 

"  Trefa-Fresser !  "  they  called  him. 

"  Poshe  Yisroel  [sinner  in  Israel] !  "  said 
the  pious,  and  spat  at  the  mention  of  his 
name.  But  the  sage  ones  merely  shrugged 
their  shoulders,  and  said,  "  A  meshuggener 
Yiid  [crazy  Jew]." 

117 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

For  weeks  Shaye's  strange  fit  of  madness 
remained  a  favorite  topic  and  a  tantalizing 
mystery,  yet  was  there  not  an  intrepid  soul 
that  dared  broach  the  subject  to  him.  In 
deed,  there  was  a  strong  prohibition 
against  it,  and  even  the  school-boys  were 
admonished  not  to  linger  about  him 
listening  to  his  war  yarns,  as  had  been 
their  pleasure,  lest  at  any  moment  the 
madness  might,  God  forbid !  break  out 
again. 

Now,  there  was  an  inquiring  spirit  in  the 
Gass,  lodged  in  the  small  person  of  one 
named  Shimmele,  aged  six,  known  also 
as  the  Bochurle  [little  scholar],  and  it  was 
this  inquisitive  spirit  which  at  last  pried 
open  the  seal  of  that  fast-bound  mystery. 
Not  that  Shimmele  meant  wilfully  to  diso 
bey.  No,  he  was  a  pearl  of  a  child  (let  him 
who  doubts  it  ask  his  granny),  but  when  on 
that  sunny  day  he  lingered — not  to  speak 
to  Shaye — nay,  God  forbid!  only  to  have 
one  good  look  at  him — Bang!  before  he 
118 


A  SINNER  IN  ISRAEL 


could  clap  his  hand  over  his  mouth,  a  ques 
tion  had  popped  out. 

"Did  it  hurt?"  was  what  Shimmele 
asked. 

Shaye  smiled,  for  an  attention  to  his 
wooden  leg  was  a  tacit  compliment  to 
Shaye  himself,  so  he  replied  politely  by 
heaving  his  shoulders,  throwing  out  his 
hands,  and  making  a  frightful  face  to  indi 
cate  the  extent  of  the  hurt. 

"  And  yet  brokest  no  bones ! "  cried 
Shimmele,  admiringly. 

"  Did  I  not !  "  said  Shaye  as  he  patted  his 
stump;  "  'twas  shivered  into  bits  like  so 
much  glass."  Then,  scenting  an  audience 
for  his  favorite  one,  which  began,  "  In  the 
year  '31,  when  we  were  campaigning  under 
my  General  Boom,"  he  took  his  pipe  from 
his  mouth,  cleared  his  throat,  and  began, — 

"In  the  year '31 " 

'  Yes,  I  know,"  interrupted  Shimmele, 
"  it  was  then  so  cold  that  you  soldiers  had 
to  walk  one  close  behind  the  other,  to  pull 
119 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

one  another's  legs  out,  as  at  every  step  they 
froze  fast  in  the  snow.  That's  not  what  I 
mean." 

Shaye  grunted  his  disgust,  and  resumed 
his  pipe. 

"  When  I  stand  by  the  pump  I  can  spit 
way  across  the  cobbles,  Maierle  can  spit  to 
the  walk,  and  Yainkele,  though  he  is  a  big 
blockhead,  can  spit  clean  into  the  door 
of  the  Cheder  [school],"  said  Shimmele 
then. 

Shaye  received  this  information  with 
contemptuous  silence,  but  Shimmele  con 
tinued  to  stare  wistfully.  Then  he  heaved 
a  sigh,  and  said  musingly, — 

"  It  must  have  been  a  strong  spit." 

Shaye  puffed  in  silence. 

"  How  far  didst  thou  fly,  Shaye?  "  burst 
from  Shimmele  next. 

"  Fly?  "  roared  Shaye.  "  Dost  think  be 
cause  I  have  but  one  leg  that  I  am  a  stork? 
Thou  hadst  better  go  home  and  lick  out 
granny's  sugar-pots  instead  of  talking  im- 
120 


A  SINNER  IN  ISRAEL 


pudence  to  thy  elders,  them  Omhoretz  [ig 
noramus]  ! " 

Shimmele  was  stung  in  his  tenderest 
spot !  An  ignoramus,  he !  Was  not  his 
"  iron  head  "  the  pride  of  the  Gass ! 

"  Am  no  Omhoretz,"  he  said  with  dig 
nity,  "  and  where  is  the  impudence,  if  I  but 
ask  thee  a  polite  question?  " 

Shaye  was  perplexed. 

"  What  question?  "  he  growled. 

"  'Tis  said  of  thee  that  the  reason  why 
thou  didst  not  die  in  thy  great  sickness  is 
because  thou  couldst  not,  for  even  Gehin- 
nom  [hell]  spat  thee  out,  and  I  did  but 
wish  to  know,  when  thou  wast  spat  out  how 
far  thou  flewest,  and  whether  it  hurt,  and 

where "  but  there  he  stopped,  for  a 

huge  hand  was  making  straight  for  his  ear. 
Shimmele  dodged  and  fled. 

It  then  happened  that  Yainkele,  the  om 
nipresent,  seeing  his  enemy  Shimmele  in 
distress,  was  so  filled  with  joy  thereat  that 
he  could  not  contain  it,  and  fell  to  slapping 
121 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

his  knees  and  yelling  delightedly,  "  The 
meshuggener  Yiid  is  after  him — the  me- 
shuggener  Yud " 

In  all  his  short  life  Yainkele  had  never 
come  across  a  good  thing  that  he  did  not 
spoil  it,  and,  to  his  dismay,  he  suddenly 
found  the  lame  man's  wrath  turned  upon 
himself.  He  turned  and  fled  shrieking  after 
Shimmele,  while  Shaye  stumped  in  pursuit, 
roaring  frightful  oaths  and  brandishing  his 
stick  in  the  air. 

The  news  rushed  through  the  Gass  like 
wildfire.  In  a  moment  the  street  was  full 
of  frightened  mothers. 

"  Wai  geschrieen !  Where  is  my  Fish- 
ele? — my  Baerele? — my  Hirshele?  Have 
you  not  heard?  The  madness  is  again  upon 
him.  He  is  pursuing  little  children  and 
rending  them  in  pieces !  " 

It  was  his  good  friend  Mendel  Schuster 

who  captured  Shaye,  and  brought  him  to 

his  house.     There  he  forced  him  upon  a 

bed.    Then  he  gave  him  a  drink  of  brandy. 

122 


A  SINNER  IN  ISRAEL 


This  latter  unwonted  munificence  so  dazed 
Shaye  that  he  lay  quite  still  with  wonder; 
nor  could  he  arise  when  he  would,  for  no 
sooner  did  he  stir  than  both  Mendel  and 
his  wife  Gitel  waved  their  hands  frantically 
at  him,  hissing,  "  Sh— sh !  " 

Shaye  stared  with  utter  amazement. 

"  Mendel  Schuster,"  said  he,  at  length, 
"  wilt  thou  please  tell  me  what  means  all 
this  nonsense?  " 

The  good  pair  stared  at  him  with  fright 
ened  faces,  but  said  nothing. 

"  Have  you  two  and  all  the  Gass  gone 
mad?  "  cried  Shaye  then. 

At  this  Mendel  began  to  back  toward 
the  door  with  every  sign  of  terror,  while 
Gitel  burst  into  tears,  and  cried  in  a  hoarse 
whisper,  "  For  God's  sake,  Mendel,  why 
does  Eisak  not  come  with  the  Doctor?  " 

This  broke  the  last  strand  of  Shaye's  pa 
tience.  He  sprang  from  the  bed,  and  burst 
into  a  storm  of  abuse,  stumping  about  the 
room,  and  rapping  out  oaths  at  lightning 
123 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

speed.  Gitel  fled,  but  as  for  Mendel,  a 
great  calm  began  to  spread  over  his  face. 

"  As  I  live,"  he  faltered,  "  I  begin  to  mis 
doubt — thou  speakest  so — so  like  thy  nat 
ural  self " 

"What!  natural  self!  Ass's-head,  I'll 
break  every  bone  in  thy  crooked  old  car 
cass  if  thou  speakest  not  at  once !  "  roared 
Shaye. 

Then  Mendel  smiled.  "  Thank  God,"  he 
said,  and  sighed  comfortably.  "  Forgive 
me,  Shaye,  my  friend;  I  see  now  we  have 
made  a  great  mistake.  Thou  art,  unbe- 
schrieen,  healthy  and  well — very  healthy 
and  well." 

But  Shaye  was  by  no  means  calmed. 

"Why  should  I  not  be  healthy?"  he 
shouted. 

Mendel  looked  embarrassed. 

"  Sit !  "  cried  Shaye  then,  forcing  Men 
del  into  a  chair,  "  and  there  thou  sittest 
until  thou  tellest  me,  once  for  all,  what 
means  all  this  Meshuggas  [craziness]. 
124 


A  SINNER  IN  ISRAEL 


Thinkest  thou  I  see  not  that  things  are  not 
as  they  used  to  be?  The  people  shun  me 
like  the  pest.  When  I  come,  all  stand 
aside  with  a  to-do  as  if  I  were  a  field- 
marshal.  I  have  thought,  '  Someone  has 
again  spread  an  evil  report  about  thee; 
wait,  it  will  pass  over/  but  it  does  not  pass 
over.  Now  I  will  know  why." 

"  It  is  because  they  fear  thee/'  ventured 
Mendel,  timidly. 

'  Yes,  that  I  see,  that  they  fear  me. 
They  fled  before  me,  and  barred  their 
doors  as  before  the  enemy,  but  why,  I  ask 
thee— why?  " 

Mendel  wavered.  Shaye  insisted,  and  at 
last  he  wormed  it  out  of  him. 

"  It  is  because  of  what  happened  in  thy 
great  sickness,"  began  Mendel  with  much 
hesitation.  '  Thou  wast  then  so  bad — my 
worst  enemy  I  do  not  wish  to  be  as  thou 
wast.  And  in  the  end  yet  thou  didst  be 
come  possessed  of  a  frightful  desire.  God 
have  mercy! — what  thinkest  thou,  Shaye? 
125 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

— Chazer  [pig]  thou  didst  wish  to  eat — salt 
pork  and  just  salt  pork.  Bitter  tears  didst 
thou  weep  over  it,  until  at  last  the  Doctor 
said  one  should  give  it  thee,  lest  thou  die. 
What  was  to  be  done?  So  Eisak  Schul- 
klopfer  brought  thee  a  bit  from  the  inn  and 
thou— thou  didst  eat  it." 

"  It  was  not  even  good  pork — -rancid  as 
an  old  boot,"  said  Shaye. 

Mendel  stared. 

"  What !  "  he  cried,  "  thou  knewest  what 
thou  didst?  " 

"  Why  should  I  not  have  known?  "  said 
Shaye. 

"  And  wast  not  meshugge?  " 

"  Wie  haisst,  meshugge? "  said  Shaye. 

Mendel  clasped  his  hands,  and  shook  his 
head  in  utter  amazement  and  disgust. 

"  That  thou  art  a  big  Poshe  [sinner]  I 
have  always  known,"  he  said,  "  but  what  d 
big  rascal  thou  art,  that  I  see  now  first !  " 

"  Nu,  nu,"  said  Shaye,  "  I  am  not  the 
worst  by  a  long  shot,  and  the  Almighty 
126 


A  SINNER  IN  ISRAEL 


will  not  be  too  hard  on  me  for  that  bit 
of  pork,  for  He  saw  it  was  in  my  great 
despair  I  ate  it.  And  so  the  people 
thought  I  was  crazy — hm — a  pack  of 
sheep's-heads! — but  thou,  Mendel,  that 
thou  shouldst  be  such  a  fool — that  I  won 
der  at.  Canst  not  see  why  I  wished  to  eat 
that  pork?  " 

"  May  the  lightning  strike  me  if  I  can 
see  it!" 

"Nu,  so  I  will  tell  thee,"  said  Shaye. 
"  Seest  thou,  as  I  was  lying  there  in  my 
great  sickness,  and  it  was  already  time  to 
call  the  Chevra,  I  began  to  bethink  me  of 
my  past  life,  and  how  I  would  soon  stand 
in  the  presence  of  the  Most  High,  His 
Name  be  praised!  I  have  my  little  fail 
ings, — I  do  not  deny  it, — and  when  I  re 
membered  the  sins  I  had  committed,  I  tell 
thee  I  became  afraid.  Then  all  at  once  I 
seemed  to  see  myself  in  the  Hereafter,  and 
I  was  led  in  at  the  door.  There  sat  the 
Most  High.  What  thinkest  thou,  Men- 
127 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

del? — He  looked  just  like  the  chief-rabbi  of 
Prague,  whom  I  once  saw  when  I  was  a 
boy.  There  He  sat  in  His  big  arm-chair, 
reading  out  of  a  thick  book,  and  stroking 
His  long  white  beard.  '  Aha/  He  cried 
when  He  saw  me,  '  here  comes  my  Shaye 
Leben — a  nice  little  Ganef  [rascal] — here, 
bring  me  my  book  once/  and  they  brought 
Him  the  book  wherein  are  written  down 
all  the  sins  of  the  people.  He  turned  over 
the  pages,  and  when  He  came  to  my  name 
He  stopped.  '  Pfui ! '  He  said  when  He 
saw  the  long  list  of  my  sins,  '  may  I  live 
but  that  is  a  sinner — such  a  rascal  we  have 
not  had  up  here  in  a  long  time.  Wait,  he 
will  get  his  Makkes  [beating].  Here,  fetch 
thou  thy  Steckel  [stick]/  He  cried,  and  a 
big  angel  came  forth — an  arm  he  had  like 
a  blacksmith  and  a  stick  as  thick  as  a  fist. 
I  tell  thee,  my  hair  stood  on  end  when  I 
saw  it.  And  then  the  Most  High,  His 
Name  be  praised!  began  to  read  off  the 
sins — sins  that  I  usser  remembered  even  in 
128 


A  SINNER  IN  ISRAEL 


my  dreams.  Right  at  the  beginning  He 
began :  '  Fifty  licks  because  he  ran  away 
from  home;  his  parents,  nebbich,  worried 
their  hearts  out  over  him — usser  was  he 
worth  it/  said  the  Most  High,  and  klup! 
klup ! — down  came  the  stick  of  the  big  an 
gel  on  my  back.  And  so  it  went — twenty 
licks  for  this,  and  thirty  licks  for  that.  For 
ty  licks  for  the  debt  he  owes  Hendel  Feder- 
schleisserin,  who  is,  God  knows,  a  pious 
and  hard-working  woman/  said  the  Most 
High,  and  '  twenty  licks  for  the  lard  cakes 
he  ate/  and  so  on  and  so  on,  page  after 
page,  until  the  cold  sweat  broke  out  on  me 
with  terror.  And  every  time  when  I 
thought,  now  He  is  done,  He  turned  an 
other  page  and  began  anew.  '  Woe  is  me/ 
I  cried  in  my  heart,  '  I  cannot  bear  this. 
When  will  this  end?  When  will  this  end? 
But  it  did  not  end.  Now  see,  Mendel,  I 
have  eaten  much  Trefa  [unclean]  in  my 
life, — stewed  rabbits,  and  beef  fried  in  but 
ter,  bacon  and  roast  pork,  and  all  kinds  of 
129 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 


Chazer,  but — 'tis  the  truth  I'm  telling  thee 
— never  in  my  life  had  I  tasted  one  bit  of 
salt  pork;  so,  as  I  lay  there  in  my  agony,  I 
thought,  '  Wait,  before  I  die  I  will  yet  eat 
a  bit  of  salt  pork;  then,  when  the  Most 
High,  His  Name  be  praised!  will  cry  out, 
<  Ten  licks  for  the  salt  pork  he  ate  ' — then 
I  will  know — at  last !  thank  God !  at  last  it 
is  the  end!'" 


130 


V 
NITTEL-NACHT 


V 
NITTEL-NACHT 

A  dark  and  biting  winter  afternoon,  and 
yet  the  streets  are  swarming  with  people. 
Shops  are  bright  with  gilded  sweets  and 
holiday  wares;  from  every  chimney  rises 
the  sweet  smell  of  holiday  dishes; — Christ 
mas,  the  great  festival  of  the  nations  is  at 
hand,  and  everywhere  there  is  light  and 
life  and  merry,  bustling  preparation. 
Everywhere? — no,  not  quite  everywhere. 
There  is  one  street — a  narrow,  dingy  one, 
so  dark  and  dull  that  it  would  appear  as  if 
all  the  gloom  crowded  out  of  the  town  by 
the  holiday  spirit  had  sought  and  found 
shelter  there. 

Within    the    tall,    crooked    houses,    the 

women  go  about  with  troubled  faces;  the 

men  are  still  in  the  streets  hawking  their 

small  wares.     Now  and  then  the  musical 

133 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

drone  of  prayers  breaks  through  the  still 
ness;  all  else  is  silent  and  gloomy. 

From  a  poor  room  of  one  of  the  houses 
comes  the  sound  of  weeping.  It  is  Veitel 
Packeltrager's  home,  and  within,  Veitel 
himself, — the  patient,  the  diligent, — is  ly 
ing  on  his  bed  by  day,  while  Rochel,  his 
wife,  with  two  children  dragging  at  her 
skirts  and  one  at  the  breast,  goes  about 
complaining : 

"  Who  will  earn  bread  for  the  little  ones, 
when  thou  liest  there  with  an  injured  foot? 
How  couldst  be  such  a  Shlemiel,  Veitel !  " 

"  God  has  helped  thus  far — He  will  help 
further,"  replies  the  more  optimistic  Veitel. 
"  Do  thou  but  tend  to  thine  own  affairs, 
and  send  at  last  that  gift  to  Herr  Burger- 
meister." 

"  Shema ! — now  he  would  lay  this  blame 
also  on  my  head/*  cries  Rochel,  and  falls 
to  weeping  silently. 

Alas,  the  spirit  of  gloom  is  lodging 
in  Veitel  Packeltrager's  home.  The 

134 


NITTEL-NACHT 


sources  of  his  troubles  are  twofold.  One 
lies  in  the  circumstance  which  Veitel's 
name  indicates;  namely,  that  he  is  a  Pack- 
eltrager  [pack-carrier],  a  bearer  of  bur 
dens,  whose  business  in  life  it  is  to  carry 
heavy  loads  from  morning  till  night.  On 
a  recent  day,  when,  as  often  before,  his  zeal 
outran  his  strength,  he  had  stumbled,  and 
dropped  one  of  the  iron  bars  with  which 
he  was  laden  on  his  foot,  and  now  he  lay  a 
helpless  sufferer,  and  there  was  none  to 
earn  bread. 

The  source  of  the  other  trouble  is  a 
deeper  and  more  permanent  one.  It  lies 
in  no  less  a  circumstance  than  this:  that 
Prodow,  the  town  in  which  Veitel  lives,  is 
a  "  Trefa-Mokum "  [literally,  unclean 
place];  in  other  words,  a  place  forbidden 
to  Jews. 

Sixty-three  so-called  "  tolerated  Jews  " 
are  lawful  residents  therein,  much  to  the  in 
dignation  of  its  pious  Gentile  burghers;  but 
since  these  sixty-three  are  the  fertile  source 
135 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

of  the  city's  funds,  their  presence  must 
needs  be  endured. 

Veitel  Packeltrager  is  not  of  the  toler 
ated.  He  is  too  poor;  for  "  toleration  " 
is  a  high-priced  privilege.  His  presence  in 
the  town  is  a  breach  of  the  law;  yet  he  is 
there,  and  like  him  many  others,  for  in 
those  places  where  it  is  lawful  for  Jews  to 
live,  the  crowding  is  too  dense,  the  compe 
tition  too  keen,  and  only  the  sharpest  wits 
can  there  survive.  Veitel,  alas,  has  little 
wit;  only  a  pair  of  strong  shoulders.  He 
asks  nothing  but  to  be  allowed  to  make  a 
beast  of  burden  of  himself  for  a  pittance, 
to  labor  in  peace;  but  he  may  not.  Three 
times  with  the  others  not  tolerated  has  he 
been  driven  out  of  the  town;  but  the  cry  of 
hungry  children  was  stronger  than  the  arm 
of  the  law,  and  three  times  did  he  come 
crawling  back. 

For  the  last  few  years  he  has  had  com 
parative  peace, — if  peace  it  may  be  called, 
to  rise  at  morn  in  trembling  and  go  to  bed 
136 


NITTEL-NACHT 


in  fear, — yet  let  none  suppose  the  law  had 
gone  suddenly  blind,  or  that  it  slept.  No, 
it  was  wide  awake;  its  eyes  closed  de 
signedly,  but  not  so  tight  that  they  did 
not  blink  with  greedy  desire  at  the  tribute 
of  purses  of  coin  and  tubs  of  butter,  of 
casks  of  wine  and  fat  geese,  which  the 
Jews  laid  yearly  upon  the  altar  of  its  good 
will. 

Veitel  Packeltrager's  annual  offering  to 
the  law,  whose  tangible  form  was  Herr 
Burgermeister,  was  the  product  of  one  fat 
goose,  his  only  wealth,  which  Rochel 
tended  and  fed  with  pious  ardor,  for  there 
by  hung  the  family  weal  or  woe.  Now 
Christmas  eve,  the  time  of  the  sacrifice,  was 
at  hand,  and  Veitel's  offering  was  not  yet 
placed. 

"  Now  get  the  Yiingel  [little  boy]  ready; 
He  must  carry  the  gift  there  at  once,"  Vei 
tel  was  crying  from  his  bed. 

"Shema,"  cried  his  wife,  "the  child  I 
should  send !  " 

137 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"Who  then?  Me,  perhaps?  No  one 
will  eat  him." 

"  Nay,  nay, — rather  I  will  go  myself." 

"  Shah — nonsense !  thou  talkest  like  a 
Goyah  [Christian  woman],"  cried  Veitel, 
and  gazed  with  some  alarm  at  his  pretty 
wife,  whose  twenty-five  years,  in  spite  of 
poverty  and  care  and  child-bearing,  lay 
but  lightly  on  her  graceful  head. 

"  Veitel, — hast  forgotten — Nittel-Nacht ! 
Wait — perhaps  grandfather  will  soon  be 
home  from  Schul.  Thou  wouldst  not  send 
the  child  out  alone  among  them — and  just 
to-night? 

"  Grandfather ! — Grandfather  is  himself 
a  child.  Why  didst  not  have  our  gift  ready 
in  time?  "  cried  Veitel. 

"  Must  I  tell  thee  again?  Two  hours  I 
waited  in  Nossen  Schochet's  [Nathan  the 
slaughterer's]  house.  Nu,  certainly; — first 
comes  Frau  Parnassin,  then  Frau  Wool 
Merchant — anybody  first — Rochel  the  wife 
of  a  Packeltrager  can  wait !  " 
138 


NITTEL-NACHT 


"  Dost  think  I  have  no  heart  in  my 
body?  But  what's  to  be  done?  Hirshl 
must  go, — have  I  money  for  a  messenger? 
With  thy  lingering  about  thou  wilt  yet 
bring  us  and  the  whole  Kille  [community] 
to  destruction." 

Rochel  wrung  her  hands  in  fear  for  her 
child,  but  her  husband's  last  argument  was 
too  fully  convincing.  Did  they  not  exist 
at  the  mere  whim  and  pleasure  of  the 
Biirgermeister?  His  displeasure  might 
mean  suffering  for  the  whole  community. 
With  an  aching  heart  she  placed  the  pot 
of  white  goose-oil  and  the  large  creamy 
liver,  wrapped  in  many  cloths,  into  a  bas 
ket,  and  hung  it  upon  Hirshl's  arm,  forti 
fying  him  the  while  with  advice  and  warn 
ings. 

"  Of  all  things,  Hirshl,  my  life,  do  not 
pass  the  church.  Thou  knowest  how  they 
are.  They  might  think  thou  wert  trying 
to  peep  in,  and  might,  God  forbid,  do  thee 
an  injury — and  if  thou  meetest  anyone, 
139 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

hide  in  the  shadow,  or  if  they  notice  thee, 
step  aside  into  the  gutter,  and  pull  thy  cap 
politely,  and  if  anyone  asks  thee  what  thou 
carriest,  say  they  are  old  shoes  from  the 
cobblers,  and  if  they  would  molest  thee, — 
run,  run  as  fast  as  thou  canst." 

Hirshl  was  a  little,  thin  boy  with  a  soft 
child's  face,  out  of  which  shone  strangely 
wide,  dark,  half-shrewd,  half-melancholy 
eyes.  He  knew  that  his  errand  was  not 
void  of  dangers;  for  Christmas  eve, 
Nittel-Nacht  [St.  Nicholas  night],  as  it 
was  called,  had  always  been  a  favorite  time 
for  Jew-raids,  when  the  people  fresh  from 
church,  where  the  priests  had  fired  them 
with  religious  zeal,  delighted  in  plundering 
and  murdering  the  Jews  in  the  name  of 
Christ,  their  Lord. 

He  knew  that  his  father  and  the  other 
men  in  the  Gass  always  remained  awake  on 
this  night,  that  they  might  be  prepared  in 
case  of  danger;  but  he  also  knew  all  the 
good  hiding-places,  all  the  dark  windings 
140 


NITTEL-NACHT 


and  alley-ways  of  the  town.  So,  grasping 
his  basket  firmly,  he  set  out  on  his 
errand. 

Up  to  the  end  of  the  Jews'  street  he 
walked  at  ease,  but  at  the  corner,  where  be 
gan  the  enemy's  world,  he  stopped  like  a 
frightened  hare,  scenting  the  hunter's 
hounds.  The  street  seemed  peaceful  and 
empty;  and  swiftly,  noiselessly  he  hurried 
on.  He  passed  the  cemetery  without  a 
tremor;  on  that  night  it  was  but  the  living 
he  feared.  The  next  turning  brought  him 
to  the  church.  He  remembered  his  moth 
er's  warning  not  to  pass  it,  but  just  beyond 
shone  a  bake-shop  window  sparkling  with 
Christmas  splendor.  He  longed  to  have 
a  peep  at  all  that  glory.  No  one  was 
stirring, — -he  would  risk  it. 

Just  as  he  came  opposite  the  church 
door,  it  opened,  and  forth  came  a  group  of 
laughing  men  and  girls  who  hurried  away, 
the  last  one  leaving  the  door  ajar.  From 
the  shadow  into  which  he  had  crept, 

141 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Hirshl  could  look  within,  down  to  the  shin 
ing  altar,  where  hung  a  half-naked,  blood 
stained  effigy  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth. 

"  It  is  their  God,"  he  thought,  and  gazed 
with  fear  and  loathing  at  the  ghastly  figure. 
In  his  mind  there  loomed  mystically, 
vaguely  but  fearfully,  the  consciousness 
that  the  source  of  all  their  troubles  lay  in 
that  horrible  figure. 

How  spectral  the  gloom  of  those  shad 
owy  naves!  What  harrowing  mysteries 
hid  behind  those  dark  chancel  doors !  Was 
it  there  they  kept  that  awful  host,  on  ac 
count  of  which  the  Jews  had  to  stay  in  their 
houses  during  Passion  Week,  and  which 
bled — so  the  Christians  said — when  a  Jew 
looked  upon  it?  Then  a  chancel  door  be 
gan  slowly  and  noiselessly  to  slide  ajar, 
and  Hirshl  turned,  and  fled  in  terror. 

The  next  turning  brought  him  to  the 
Rathhaus  Square,  which  he  dared  not 
cross,  for  it  was  forbidden  to  Jews.  As  he 
was  about  to  go  another  way,  his  foot- 

142 


NITTEL-NACHT 


steps  were  arrested  by  the  sound  of  shout 
ing  voices,  crying : 

"  Jew  dog,  damned  hound !  " 

He  knew  these  sounds  but  too  well.  It 
was  one  of  the  Gass  in  trouble.  Creeping 
swiftly  to  the  corner,  he  saw  a  pack  of 
rowdy  boys  pursuing  an  old,  feeble  man, 
who,  gasping  and  trembling,  stumbled 
painfully  along,  dodging  their  missiles,  and 
looking  about  with  wild,  hunted  eyes. 

"  Dede  [grandfather]  !"  shrieked  Hirshl. 
He  had  recognized  his  grandfather.  With 
a  bound  he  was  at  the  old  man's  side,  drag 
ging  him  to  the  corner  and  into  a  dark 
door-way.  The  old  man  was  panting  hard 
and  trembling  like  a  leaf.  Hirshl,  too,  was 
trembling,  but  it  was  with  impotent  hate 
and  fear  and  deep,  deep  pity.  He  soothed 
the  old  man's  hand  lovingly,  and  his  tears 
fell  hot  and  fast  upon  it. 

"  What  art  doing  out  so  late  alone, 
Hirshl  Leben?"  said  his  grandfather  at 
last. 

148 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"Did  they  hurt  thee,  Dede?"  sobbed 
Hirshl. 

"  Nay,  nay, — do  not  weep — 'twas  only  a 
little  dirt,"  and  patiently  and  stolidly  the 
old  man  wiped  the  mud  off  his  wrinkled 
face  and  white  beard. 

"  Why,  O  why  didst  thou  go  on  the 
Rathhaus  Square!  Dost  not  know  it  is 
forbidden?  "  cried  Hirshl. 

"  Why  should  I  not  know?  But  it  was 
dark,  and  with  all  the  people  and  noise 
my  head  went  like  a  mill-wheel, — I  must 
have  lost  the  way." 

"  Why  wast  not  in  Schul?— Where  didst 
get  that  basketful  of  apples? — Why  wast 
walking  in  the  street?  "  questioned  Hirshl. 

"  Esoi !  "  said  the  old  man,  for  he  could 
not  tell  Hirshl  how  he  had  sat  behind  the 
stove,  until  the  thought  that  his  son-in-law 
Veitel  was  lying  ill,  and  there  was  none  to 
earn  anything,  and  he  himself  was  ever  eat 
ing  the  bread  of  idleness,  became  more 
painful  than  he  could  endure;  and  how,  in- 

144 


NITTEL-NACHT 


stead  of  going  to  Schul,  he  had  bought  a 
basket  of  apples,  and  had  gone  to  peddle 
among  the  school-children. 

"  Esoi !  "  repeated  the  grandfather,  "  a 
Yungel  [little  boy]  does  not  need  to  know 
everything,"  and  Hirshl  questioned  no 
more.  He  knew  that  his  grandfather  was 
very  old,  and  sometimes  childish,  when  he 
did  foolish  things.  He  started  again  on 
his  errand,  but  his  progress  now  was  slow, 
for  he  had  to  lead  the  old  man,  whose  feet 
were  stiff  with  cold.  At  length  they  ar 
rived  at  the  Burgermeister's  house.  Hirshl 
delivered  his  basket,  and  received  as  re 
ward  a  gilded  cake,  but,  knowing  it  to  be 
Trefa  [unclean],  he  dropped  it  into  the 
gutter.  Then  they  mended  their  pace  and 
arrived  at  home  unmolested. 

It  was  the  custom  of  the  men  to  spend 
the  night  in  groups,  playing  cards,  that  in 
case  of  a  raid  they  might  not  be  taken  in 
their  sleep,  and  even  the  most  pious  did  not 
condemn  a  game  on  this  occasion.  On  ac- 

145 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

count  of  Veitel's  injured  foot,  his  neigh 
bors  agreed  to  meet  in  his  room,  and  soon 
after  supper  they  began  to  arrive. 

Rochel  had  put  the  younger  children  to 
bed,  but  fully  dressed,  that  no  time  might 
be  lost  in  case  of  danger.  Hirshl  as  the 
eldest  had  permission  to  remain  awake. 
He  now  sat  at  the  corner  of  the  table  where 
the  men  were  playing,  watching  the  game 
and  listening  to  their  conversation. 

They  spoke  of  many  things;  but  through 
it  all,  like  the  warp  of  a  cloth  upon  which 
the  rest  is  woven,  ran  the  complaining  a- 
bout  the  Gentiles;  but  Joel  Wineseller,  who 
was  a  great  wit,  cracked  jokes  continually. 

The  grandfather,  who  had  been  praying 
all  the  evening,  now  closed  his  prayer- 
book,  and  then  he  rehearsed  again  the  piti 
ful  tale  of  his  street  encounter. 

"  If  I  were  a  man,  I  would  kill  them," 
cried  Hirshl,  his  eyes  flashing  rage. 

"  Still,  still,"  cried  the  grandfather,  "  do 
not  add  to  thy  sins.  It  is  on  account  of 
146 


NITTEL  NACHT 


our  iniquities  that  we  are  punished  and  in 
Golus  [exile]." 

Jacob  Sofer  now  began  to  tell  a  harrow 
ing  tale  of  Polish  persecutions,  when,  on  a 
certain  Christmas  eve,  a  whole  congrega 
tion  had  taken  refuge  in  their  synagogue; 
how  there  they  had  fought  for  their  lives, 
and  how,  with  their  own  hands,  they  had 
killed  their  wives  and  daughters  rather 
than  let  them  fall  alive  into  the  hands  of  the 
Christians.  Others  told  similar  tales,  and 
Hirshl  listened,  white  with  horror. 

"  Why,  O  why  are  the  people  so 
wicked?  "  he  mused.  "  When  I  am  a  man 
I  will  be  so  good,  so  pious  that  the  Lord 
will  let  us  return  to  Yerushelaim  where 
there  are  no  wicked  Goyim." 

Suddenly  he  was  startled  out  of  his 
musings  by  a  cry  of  alarm. 

"  A  knock,"  gasped  his  mother,  "  did 
you  not  hear  a  knock?  " 

The  company  listened  with  white, 
strained  faces.  They  started; — they  had 

147 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

heard  it  clearly  now — it  was  a  knock.  Some 
one  blew  out  the  light;  Rochel  fled  to  the 
bedside  of  her  children.  In  Hirshl's  short 
life  there  lay  the  memory  of  a  time  of 
terror,  when,  clinging  to  his  father's  neck, 
they  had  fled  in  the  night,  and  hidden  in 
a  cold,  black  forest.  He  clutched  his 
grandfather's  arm  in  agony,  and  they 
waited  with  bated  breath  for  what  would 
follow.  But  all  remained  still;  only  the 
wind  moaned,  and  the  shutters  creaked. 
Some  one  took  courage  to  look  outside. 
The  knock  came  again;  then  they  saw  that 
it  was  but  a  broken  latch  tapping  in  the 
wind. 

They  relit  their  candle,  and  sat  down  to 
renew  their  game.  Rochel  was  weeping 
softly  at  her  baby's  cradle. 

"  My  God,"  she  wailed,  "  why  did  we  not 
remain  in  Fishow?  They  have  it  good — 
they  live  behind  strong  Ghetto  gates." 

The  men  were  playing  as  before,  but 
they  told  no  more  harrowing  tales.  Joel 
148 


NITTEL-NACHT 


Wineseller's  jokes  fell  on  deaf  ears;  his 
laughter,  too,  was  hollow.  At  every  sound 
they  started;  they  trembled  at  their  own 
heart-beats. 

The  grandfather  was  busily  praying  a- 
gain,  shaking  himself  with  pious  ardor,  and 
when  he  ceased,  it  was  but  to  comfort 
Hirshl,  arid  tell  him  of  that  glorious  time 
when  the  Messiah  would  come;  when  all 
Israel  would  dwell  at  peace  in  Zion,  each 
man  under  his  own  vine  and  fig-tree,  in  a 
land  flowing  with  milk  and  honey,  as  the 
Lord  has  promised. 

And  the  long  night  dragged  wearily  on; 
the  wind  sighed  and  moaned;  the  feeble 
candle  blinked  and  sputtered;  and  little 
Hirshl's  soul  was  heavy  with  trouble  and 
weariness.  Then  slowly  and  strangely  the 
room  waxed  wide  and  bright,  the  murmur 
ing  voices  came  faint  and  distant,  the  wall 
of  the  house  swelled  like  a  mist,  and  Hirshl 
found  himself  standing  in  a  large,  fine 
square,  just  like  the  Rathhaus  Square.  Be- 
149 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

fore  him  stood  a  beautiful  building  with  a 
golden  dome.  The  Holy  of  Holies  shone 
at  the  top  of  a  wide  stair,  and  before  it 
stood  grandfather  in  a  white  robe  as  at  the 
Seder;  below  were  crowds  of  people  all 
singing  joyfully,  and  over  all  shone  a  bright 
golden  light. 

"  It  is  Jerusalem,"  cried  Hirshl,  and 
clapped  his  hands,  "  and  the  light  that 
shines  over  all,  that  is  the  Shechinah." 

"  Adon  olom  asher  molach,"  sang  the 
people,  and  Hirshl's  heart  leaped  high  with 
joy.  He,  too,  would  sing,  "  B'terem  kol 
yezir  nibro,"  and  as  he  opened  his  lips — he 
awoke. 

Alas,  the  glory  of  Zion  was  fled, — he  was 
only  at  home  in  the  Gass;  but  it  was  morn 
ing,  and  the  terrors  of  the  night  were  past. 

How  sweet  the  white  light  of  day !  How 
sweet  the  smell  of  the  simmering  soup-pot ! 
How  sweetest  of  all  the  strong  comfort  of 
his  father's  voice  chanting  the  old  familiar 
morning  prayers ! 

150 


VI 
A  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON 


VI 
A  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON 

One  fine  day  in  spring,  young  Stephan 
came  tearing  from  town  on  horseback, 
burst  into  the  farmhouse  kitchen,  crying 
desperately : 

"Uncle  Pawel,  Uncle  Pawel,  I'm  un 
done!  I  must  have  a  hundred  Gulden  at 
once,  or  be  thrown  into  prison,  and  left 
there  to  rot." 

"  One  hundred  Gulden !  Whui !  "  cried 
Pawel  Bauer.  "  It  is  all  I  have  in  the 
world,  and  my  Anushka's  dowry  at  that. 
What  mischief  hast  got  into  again?  " 

"  So  thou  refusest?  "  cried  Stephan. 

"  I  need  only  twenty-five  more,  for 
Christoph  says  the  day  I  lay  him  down  one 
hundred  and  twenty-five,  he  marries  my 
Anushka." 

158 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  Well,  then,  good-bye,  and  say  a  mass 
for  my  soul,"  cried  Stephan,  hotly,  and 
made  for  the  door. 

"  Wait,  wait, — where  goest  in  such  a 
hurry?  " 

"To  the  devil.!  To  throw  myself  into 
the  well!" 

"  Wait,  Stephanko,  my  boy,"  pleaded 
Pawel,  clutching  his  nephew's  coat-tails 
frantically.  "  How  can  I  know  thou'lt  pay 
me  back?  " 

"  Nothing  easier,"  said  Stephan,  in 
stantly  calm.  "  I  simply  write  thee  a  note, 
promising  to  pay  on  such  and  such  a  day. 
'Tis  as  good  as  gold." 

In  half  an  hour,  young  Stephan,  chirp 
ing  like  a  bird,  was  tearing  townward,  and 
Pawel  stood  spelling  over  a  large  scrawl, 
which  read : 

I  promise  to  pay  one  hundred  Gulden  to  Pawei 
Bauer  on  St.  Pagnoocius  Day. 

Signed,  Stephan  Stadter,  the  Younger. 
?  154 


A  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON 

Pawel  put  the  note  into  the  stocking, 
empty  of  the  best  part  of  Anna's  dowry, 
and  each  Sunday  took  down  his  calendar 
to  see  whether  Pagnoocius  were  not  due 
that  week;  but  spring  waxed  into  summer, 
and  summer  waned  into  autumn,  the  har 
vest  was  in,  and  the  twenty-five  Gulden 
necessary  to  the  consummation  of  Anna's 
matrimonial  hopes  lay  beside  the  note,  but 
Pagnoocius  had  not  arrived. 

"  Anushka  is  not  so  young  that  she  can 
wait !  "  scolded  Buzhinka,  her  mother. 

"  Perhaps  I've  skipped  him,"  mused 
Pawel,  scratching  under  his  cap.  "  I'm 
not  so  strong  on  print  as  I  used  to  be." 

"  I'll  go  ask  the  priest,"  he  decided. 

The  priest  did  not  take  down  his  calen 
dar  as  Pawel  expected,  but,  after  a  single 
glance  at  the  note,  threw  himself  into  a 
chair,  laughing  uproariously. 

"  Pag-noo-oo-cius,"  he  roared.  "  Ho, — 
ho —  a  comical  rogue!  I  don't  wonder 
thou  foundest  him  not  in  the  calendar; 

155 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

truly  'tis  the  first  time  I  ever  heard  of  the 
gentleman.  By  all  the  saints,  he  has  done 
thee,  Pawel ! " 

Pawel  looked  blank. 

"  Thou  hadst  best  consult  a  lawyer,"  ad 
vised  the  priest. 

Advocat  Hummel,  grown  old  and  wise  in 
village  practice,  took  the  matter  more 
gravely. 

"  Hm, — the  note  is  good,  but  you  can 
not  collect  it,"  he  said  with  fine  logic. 
"  He  promises  to  pay,  but  there  is  no 
Pagnoocius." 

"What's  to  be  done?  My  Anushka's 
dowry !  "  lamented  Pawel. 

"  My  advice  to  you  is  to  wait,"  said  the 
lawyer,  pocketing  his  fee.  "  Wait !  Who 
knows,  perhaps  there  may  some  day  be 
such  a  saint." 

Pawel  went  home  in  despair.  Buzhinka 
swore  mighty  oaths,  and  Anna  wept  loudly 
into  her  apron. 

It  chanced  that  Anshel,  the  Jewish  ped- 

156 


A  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON 

dler,  dropped  in  on  his  weekly  rounds  that 
day,  and  heard  the  story  sympathetically. 

"  I  know  someone  can  help  thee,  Pawel," 
he  said.  "  Solomon  Edelstein  is  his  name, 
and  he  keeps  a  little  wine-shop  in  our  vil 
lage,  but  he  is  a  finished  lawyer.  A  head 
on  him — of  iron,  I  tell  thee, — he  has  helped 
more  than  one  out  of  a  pickle." 

Next  day  Pawel  appeared  with  his  friend 
Anshel  before  Solomon  Edelstein,  who, 
much  to  Bauer's  astonishment,  neither 
laughed  at  the  note  nor  looked  grave;  but 
after  a  careless  glance  into  it,  he  laid  it 
indifferently  aside,  and  continued  his  read 
ing  in  a  large,  yellow-leafed  book. 

Pawel's  hope  sank  like  lead,  but  pres 
ently  old  Solomon  raised  his  eye-brows 
wearily,  drooped  his  head  meekly  to  one 
side,  and  said  in  a  small,  sad  voice : 

"  On  the  second  of  November  you'll  get 
your  money." 

"How  so  on  the  second?"  questioned 
Pawel,  dubiously. 

157 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Solomon  did  not  reply.  He  was  bending 
over  his  book  again,  intently  reading. 

"  If  the  egg  was  laid  on  a  Sabbath—  " 
he  murmured  musically,  his  thumb  wag 
ging  an  active  accompaniment,  and  Anshel 
with  a  knowing  shrug  took  Pawel  away. 

The  following  week  Pawel  and  old  Solo 
mon  appeared  at  court,  where  young 
Stephan  had  been  summoned  for  non-pay 
ment  of  his  note. 

"  I  do  not  refuse  to  pay,"  cried  Stepfian, 
smiling  confidently.  "  As  you  see  in  the 
note,  I  promise." 

"  Fool,"  growled  the  judge,  "  Pagnoo- 
cius !  You  can't  collect  on  that.  The  note 
is  no  good.  The  case  is  dismissed." 

"  Pardon  me,"  piped  a  small,  sad  voice, 
and  all  eyes  turned  to  where  little  Solomon 
stood  with  his  head  drooping  meekly  to 
one  side. 

"  Pardon  me,  Herr  Richter.  He  must 
pay.  The  note  is  good.  The  note  is  very 
good." 

158 


A  JUDGMENT  OF  SOLOMON 


"  So !  Do  you  perhaps  know  when  is 
St.  Pagnoocius?  "  barked  the  judge. 

"Why  should  I  not  know?"  answered 
Solomon.  "  It  is  the  day  after  to-mor 
row." 

"What?    How?   What  do  you  mean?" 

"  Is  not  the  day  after  to-morrow  All 
Saints'  Day?  Nu,  if  it  is  all  saints'  day, 
Pagnoocius  must  also  be  among  them." 

And  they  bought  the  raisins  for  Anush- 
ka's  wedding-cake  that  very  day. 


159 


VII 
A  COY  IN  THE  GOOD  PLACE 


VII 

A  GOY  IN  THE  GOOD  PLACE 


The  first  they  knew  of  it  in  town  was 
through  Lottchen  Schmidt,  who  had  been 
playing  at  the  river  bank,  and  came  home 
with  a  sock  in  her  hand. 

"  A  good  sock,"  said  her  mother,  in  as 
tonishment,  and  upon  examining  it  more 
closely  she  found  the  letters  "  A.  F." 
marked  at  the  top.  Everyone  knew  that 
these  initials  stood  for  Anton  Flegel,  and 
the  double  cross-stitch  in  which  they  were 
worked,  and  for  which  his  mother  had  long 
been  famous,  completed  the  evidence. 

"  I  wonder  how  this  came  by  the  river," 
mused  Lottchen's  mother,  but,  her  imagin 
ation  halting  at  the  sock,  she  hurried  across 
the  street  to  consult  the  blacksmith's  wife, 
163 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

who  immediately  opened  wide  vistas  of 
probabilities. 

Before  the  gossip  had  spread  a  quarter 
of  a  mile,  they  carried  the  young  man's 
body  up  the  street.  They  had  found  it 
caught  in  the  rushes  by  the  willows  where 
the  river  bends. 

"  Yesus  Maria !  "  cried  the  women. 

"  So  it  had  to  come." 

"  I  always  knew  he'd  come  to  a  bad 
end." 

"  Always  running  after  that  Protestant 
girl." 

"  Or  sitting  in  the  tavern." 

"  He  must  have  drowned  himself." 

"Alas!  his  poor  old  father." 

"  We  had  better  send  for  the  old  man," 
some  one  suggested  after  they  had  laid  the 
corpse  upon  a  bed,  and  covered  the  young 
face,  in  which  the  blood  still  tinted  the 
cheeks,  with  a  sheet. 

Claus  volunteered  to  go. 

164  '    • 


A  GOY  IN  THE  GOOD  PLACE 

"  He  will  break  it  gently,"  said  the  peo 
ple,  comfortably. 

Claus  was  best  fitted  for  a  delicate  er 
rand,  for  he  read  books  and  knew  what's 
what. 

The  last  prominent  landmark  in  the 
large  barrenness  of  old  Anton's  mind  was 
the  visit  of  a  troublesome  relative  from  the 
country.  Ten  years  had  passed  since  that 
event,  but  he  had  not  forgotten,  for  it  was 
the  one  time  in  his  life  that  he  had  been 
called  from  his  work  in  the  mills. 

Thus  when  Claus  came  to  him  that  day, 
saying  simply :  "  Flegel,  thou  shouldst  go 
home,"  the  old  man  cried : 

"What!   Is  she  here  again?" 

"  Nay,"  said  Claus;  "  it's  only  Anton." 

The  old  man  paled  a  little. 

"  Yeh,"  sighed  Claus,  folding  his  hands 
as  does  the  priest,  "  so  it  goes  in  this  world. 
But  what  can  one  do?  He's  a  little — a  lit 


tle  dead,  Anton." 


165 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

II 

Of  all  the  pretty  sights  in  town  there 
was  none  more  charming  than  the 
house  of  the  priest,  standing  in  its  sunny 
garden  next  to  the  Catholic  church.  It 
was  almost  covered  with  blooming  vines, 
out  of  which  shining  windows  peeped  like 
laughing  eyes;  fine  grape-vines  -clustered 
on  the  garden  walls,  and  in  the  yard  fat 
geese  waddled  comfortably. 

"  Frau  Kochin,"  who  kept  house  for  the 
priest,  was  as  plump  and  comfortable  as 
the  geese,  and  though  her  hands  were  ever 
busy  with  rolling-pins  and  stewing-pans, 
her  hair  was  always  smooth  as  satin,  her 
bodices  tight  and  neat.  As  the  people 
said,  she  was  as  fresh  and  round  as  a  hard- 
boiled  egg  newly  shelled. 

She  had  two  little  red-cheeked  children, 
who  called  the  good  priest  "  Uncle,"  and 
he  was  very  fond  of  them — very  fond,  in 
deed,  he  was  of  these  little  children.  Was 

it,  perhaps,  because  their  eyes,  which  were 
166 


A  GOY  IN  THE  GOOD  PLACE 

blue  and  merry,   so  much  resembled  his 
own? 

The  setting  sun  was  gilding  the  pebbles 
of  the  priest's  neat  gravel  walk  as  old 
Anton  Flegel,  with  bowed  head  and  bent 
shoulders,  came  slowly  along. 

He  went  to  the  side  door,  which  opened 
into  the  dining-room,  judging  from  the  in 
viting  fragrance  of  browned  butter  which 
came  from  there  that  the  priest  was  at 
supper;  and  he  judged  aright,  for  the  half- 
open  door  disclosed  the  portly  form  of 
his  Reverence  seated  at  table  with  Frau 
Kochin  and  the  little  ones,  where  they  had 
just  finished  eating  a  large  dish  of  buttered 
asparagus. 

Anton  entered  meekly  with  hat  in  hand. 

"  Your  Reverence,  my  son  is  dead,"  he 
blurted  out  without  invitation. 

"  So  I  have  heard,"  replied  the  priest  in 
compassionate  and  melting  tones,  though 
he  wiped  the  butter  from  his  mouth  with 
care  and  folded  his  napkin  neatly. 
167 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  The  funeral—  "  began  old  Flegel. 

"  Dost  not  know  that  a  suicide  cannot 
lie  in  consecrated  ground?  "  interrupted  his 
Reverence  in  the  same  tender  voice. 

"A  suicide !  "  cried  Anton,  aghast.  "  He 
was  no  suicide.  He  was  walking  in  from 
Miihldorf,  probably  hot  and  tired,  and  took 
a  cramp  while  bathing  his  feet."  • 

"Ai,  ai,  Flegel,"  said  the  priest,  with  a 
significant  nod;  "everyone  knows,  too, 
why  he  went  so  often  to  Miihldorf — a  Pro 
testant  wench." 

"  He  would  not  have  married  her,"  pro 
tested  Anton. 

"  A  reckless,  wicked  lad,"  said  the  priest. 

"  He  was  a  good  son  to  me,  your  Rever 
ence,"  pleaded  Anton. 

"  It  is  but  a  just  punishment  from 
Heaven,"  cooed  the  priest,  mournfully, 
lifting  his  hand  as  he  did  when  he  preached 
on  Easter.  "  He  was  a  great  sinner.  He 
had  not  been  to  mass  or  confession  for 
years;  he  spent  his  money  on  a  Protestant 

168 


A  GOY  IN  THE  GOOD  PLAGE 

wench  and  gave  nothing  to  the  Church, 
and  therefore  he  died  like  an  outcast,  with 
out  absolution  and  the  blessed  sacrament. 
Alas!  Anton,  thou'lt  need  buy  many 
masses  for  his  soul,  for  he  is  damned  and 
burns  in  hell  fire." 

Old  Flegel  paled  and  looked  up  with  sad, 
bleared  eyes. 

"Yesus  Maria!  what  shall  I  do?"  he 
moaned.  "  Is  there  no  place  to  bury 
him?" 

"  The  town  has  a  place  for  such  as  he," 
replied  the  priest,  in  the  same  tender 
tones. 

"What!  where  the  hanged  man  lies?" 
cried  Anton,  in  horror. 

"  Ach,  yes,  this  life  is  a  vale  of  sorrows 
but  the  righteous  will  reap  their  reward  in 
Heaven.  Kathi,  bring  the  poor  man  a  cup 
of  coffee  and  a  bun,"  and  the  priest  sighed, 
and  undid  the  middle  button  of  his  coat, 
which  drew  an  uncomfortable  crease  after 
meals. 

1(59 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

The  old  man  expostulated  and  entreated 
in  vain. 

"  Put  thy  trust  in  God,  my  son,  and  pray 
to  the  blessed  Virgin,"  said  the  priest,  lead 
ing  Anton  to  the  door,  for  he  wished  to  be 
alone,  that  he  might  close  his  good-natured 
eyes,  which  were  drooping  for  the  want  of 
his  evening  nap. 

The  old  man  wrung  his  hands  silently  as 
he  walked  away  down  the  sunny  garden 
path,  past  the  fat  geese  and  the  gently  stir 
ring  grape-vines. 

in 

Evening  had  descended  still  and  dark 
over  the  town,  and  the  stars  glittered  cold 
ly  in  the  sky,  as  Anton  stood  hesitatingly 
before  the  Protestant  parsonage,  and  it 
was  with  fear  and  misgiving  that  he  finally 
walked  along  the  straight  stone  path  up  to 
the  dark  house,  with  bare  walls  and  shut 
tered  windows,  and  knocked  timidly. 

"  The  pastor  is  busy  at  his  sermon,"  said 
170 


A  GOY  IN  THE  GOOD  PLACE 

the  woman  who  opened  the  door,  but  the 
old  man  pleading  earnest  business,  she  led 
the  way  through  a  dark  passage.  Anton 
followed,  staring  vacantly  at  the  dim  out 
line  of  her  tall,  thin  figure,  and  wondering 
vaguely  at  the  low  paper-like  rustling,  until 
he  discovered  that  it  came  from  Frau  Pas- 
torin's  stiffly-starched  white  apron. 

The  pastor  sat  at  his  desk  writing  by  the 
light  of  a  lamp,  which  threw  a  circle  of  rays 
upon  a  plain  pine  floor,  scoured  to  such  a 
degree  of  whiteness  that  Anton  feared  to 
tread  upon  it.  He  turned  as  the  old  man 
entered,  and  said  in  a  cold  though  kindly 
voice : 

"  Good  evening;  pray,  be  seated." 

The  old  man  gazed  diffidently  into  a 
stern,,  thin  face,  whose  deep-set  eyes  threw 
out  lights  like  the  glint  of  polished  steel, 
which  mated  strangely  with  his  gentle 
tones. 

"  My  son  is  drowned,  your  Reverence," 
he  essayed,  trembling,  at  length. 
171 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  What,  what — indeed !  I  am  deeply 
grieved  to  hear  it,"  cried  the  pastor.  "  And 
what  can  I  do  for  you,  my  good  man?  " 

"  I  thought  perhaps — I  beg  of  you — if 
you  would  kindly  bury  him." 

"  Are  you  not  a  Catholic? "  said  the 
pastor,  in  astonishment. 

"  Yes,  your  Reverence." 

"  And  you  come  to  me?  " 

'  Yeh,  what's  to  be  done,  your  Rever 
ence?  Our  Herr  Pfarrer  says  he  is  a  sui 
cide,  but  he  was  not  bad — only  a  little  wild; 
they  found  him  in  the  river.  You  know 
how  it  is — he  died  without  the  sacrament, 
and  now  he  is  damned  and  cannot  lie  in 
consecrated  ground;  oh,  yeh!  " 

The  pastor's  lip  curled;  he  viewed  the 
old  man  with  contemptuous  silence  for  a 
moment,  and  then  burst  forth : 

"  Idolatry !  bigotry !  O,  the  horror  of  it — 
the  benighted,  priest-ridden  mass !  Do  you 
really  believe  that  a  sinful  mortal  can  ab 
solve  another's  sin?  Do  you  really  believe 
172 


A  GOY  IN  THE  GOOD  PLACE 

that  the  lack  of  a  heathenish  rite  can  ex 
clude  a  sinner  from  Christ's  mercy?  " 

He  had  leaped  from  his  chair,  and  was 
striding  the  floor  in  great  perturbation,  the 
words  of  the  proselytizing  harangue  with 
which  he  had  for  years  assailed  obstinate 
Orientals  falling  glibly  from  his  lips,  while 
Frau  Pastorin's  knitting  needles  clicked  a 
fierce  accompaniment. 

"  They  keep  you  in  ignorance  and  dark 
ness,  for  they  know  that,  like  those  poison 
ous  night-blooms  that  wither  at  the  first 
gleam  of  dawn,  their  false  gods  will  shrink 
and  die  in  the  first  ray  of  truth,"  he  cried. 
"  They  keep  from  you  the  blessed  light  of 
the  Testament.  Throw  off  the  bondage  of 
ignorance  and  superstition;  be  one  of  us, 
brother.  Join  the  true  and  only  Church  of 
Christ.  Here,  take  this  Testament,  my 
friend;  read  there  of  the  love  of  the  Sa 
viour,  it  shines  in  every  line,"  and  thus  on, 
while  Anton  stared  in  dumb  amazement, 
but  half  understanding,  and  wondering 
173 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

vaguely  what  penance  the  priest  would  put 
upon  him  when  he  confessed  to  having 
listened. 

When  the  pastor  finally  ceased,  Anton 
rose  and  placed  the  Testament,  which  the 
former  had  forced  into  his  hands,  upon  the 
chair. 

"  Keep  it,  you  may  take  it  with  you," 
urged  the  pastor. 

"  I  thank  you,  but  it  is  not  allowed,"  said 
Anton,  simply. 

The  pastor  uttered  an  exclamation  of 
impatience  and  flung  himself  into  his  chair. 
Anton  viewed  him  with  sinking  heart. 

"  Then  you  will  not  bury  him?  "  he  asked 
pleadingly. 

"  It  is  impossible  unless  you  join  the 
Church." 

The  old  man  fumbled  his  hat,  then  for  a 
moment  looked  sly. 

"  I  will  pay  well,"  he  said. 

"  A  Catholic  cannot  lie  in  our  cemetery," 
said  the  pastor,  and  turning  to  his  desk 

174 


A  GOY  IN  THE  GOOD  PLACE 

continued  at  his  sermon,  whose  text  was, 
"  Blessed  are  the  merciful." 

Old  Anton  reeled  as  he  turned  out  into 
the  night,  and  walked  under  the  coldly  glit 
tering  stars. 

IV 

It  was  on  a  dim,  rainy  morning,  in  a  dark 
yard  of  a  dirty,  narrow  street,  that  old 
Anton  stood  gazing  perplexedly  about 
him,  staring  alternately  at  a  dingy,  peak- 
roofed  little  building  which  had  been 
pointed  out  to  him  as  the  synagogue,  and 
a  crooked  little  house  to  which  he  had  been 
directed  as  the  rabbi's  dwelling. 

The  air  was  full  of  evaporations  from  the 
puddles  of  water  that  lay  about,  while 
through  them  the  spirit  of  a  neighboring 
tannery  and  the  oily  ghost  of  Frau  Reb- 
betzin's  latest  "  Kraut  Strudel "  struggled 
for  supremacy. 

Anton  heard  voices  in  the  house,  but  saw 
no  way  of  entering,  for,  being  a  stranger, 
175 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

he  did  not  know  that  the  door  was  down 
the  crevice  by  the  fence,  where  fat  people 
went  in  sideways. 

Presently  the  back  door  of  the  syna 
gogue  opened,  and  a  thin,  dark  man  in  car 
pet  slippers  and  wearing  an  old  silk  hat 
upon  his  head  emerged. 

"  Are  you  the  priest?  "  ventured  Anton, 
doubtfully. 

The  rabbi  smiled,  drew  up  his  shoulders, 
threw  out  his  hands  and  cried : 

"  Wie  haisst?  Do  I  look  like  a  priest? 
The  priest  unbeschrieen  has  quite  a  differ 
ent  shape.  He  could  swallow  me  whole 
and  still  find  room  for  a  Yontow  dinner," 
and  he  chuckled  softly  at  his  own  joke. 

Anton  could  make  nothing  out  of  this, 
so  he  answered  simply: 

"They  told  me  I  could  find  the  Jew 
priest  here.  My  son  is  drowned  "  he  added 
huskily. 

"  Shema !  "  shrieked  the  rabbi.  "  He  is 
drowned?  Your  son?  How  so — where — 
176 


A  GOY  IN  THE  GOOD  PLACE 

how  did  it  happen?  What  a  misfortune! 
Come  with  me  quick!  Hm — hm — hm — ," 
and  he  hurriedly  led  the  way  into  the 
house. 

"  Sarah,"  he  cried  at  the  door,  "  bring  a 
little  brandy,  quick.  What  thinkest  thou, 
this  poor  man's  son  is  drowned !  " 

"  Drowned !  "  screamed  the  rabbi's  fat 
wife.  "  Wai  geschrieen !  In  the  river,  was 
it  not?  I  always  knew  it  would  happen — 
wading  and  swimming — and  God  only 
knows  what  else — wai,  wai,  wai — ." 

"  Get  the  brandy,  Sarah  Leben,  and  talk 
later,"  cried  the  rabbi. 

After  they  had  urged  the  old  man  to 
drink,  and  Sarah  with  one  sweep  had 
cleared  a  chair  of  a  bundle  of  soiled  clothes, 
a  book,  and  a  pan  of  potato  parings,  that 
the  old  man  might  be  seated,  they  plied 
him  with  a  hundred  questions,  through  the 
distractions  of  which  Anton  told  his  story 
as  best  he  could. 

The  rabbi  grasped  his  beard,  swayed 
177 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

himself  from  side  to  side,  and  at  the  pa 
thetic  places  murmured,  "  Hm — hm  "  and 
"  Wai,  wai,"  while  the  more  tender  Sarah 
wiped  away  her  tears  on  a  dirty  silk  apron. 

"  And  now  I've  come  to  you  to  bury 
him,"  was  the  end  of  Anton's  tale. 

"  To  me !  "  cried  the  rabbi,  with  a  violent 
gesture.  "  I  am  a  Jew." 

'  Yesus,  I  know  it,  and  it  is  bitter 
enough,"  cried  Anton,  "  but  what  can  I  do? 
The  Pfarrer  says  he  cannot,  the  Pastor  says 
he  dare  not." 

The  rabbi  reflected.  He  looked  pityingly 
at  the  old  man's  bent  head  and  his  dim 
eyes,  swollen  and  red  with  unshed  tears, 
striding  the  while  up  and  down  the  length 
of  the  room;  sometimes  clutching  his  beard 
dejectedly,  sometimes  gesticulating  as  if  in 
triumph. 

"  Sarah,"  he  cried  at  length  determined 
ly,  "  go,  call  Chayim." 

Chayim  was  Sarah's  uncle,  and  the  presi 
dent  of  the  Schul;  what  he  lacked  in  his 
178 


A  GOY  IN  THE  GOOD  PLACE 

learning,  which  was  confined  solely  to  the 
knowledge  of  wines  and  liquors,  he  sup 
plied  in  wealth  and  dignity,  and  not 
alone  his  position,  but  his  pride,  demanded 
that  he  be  consulted  on  all  matters  congre 
gational.  He  was  proud  of  his  learned 
nephew,  however,  in  the  presence  of  whose 
superior  knowledge  authority  dwindled  to 
mere  form,  and  whose  policy  was  to  ask 
his  president's  advice  in  all  humility,  and 
then  do  as  he  pleased. 

The  Jews  of  this  town,  as  of  all  others, 
were  neighborly,  and  Chayim  had  not  far 
to  come. 

Anton  repeated  his  story  for  him,  but 
this  time  the  rabbi  ended  it,  saying  reso 
lutely  : 

"  And  we  must  bury  him." 

"What!"  cried  Chayim.  "A  Goy  in 
the  *  good  place.'  Bistu  meshugge!  We 
cannot  do  such  a  thing.  We  dare  not !  " 

"  My  dear  uncle  Chayim  Leben,"  replied 
the  rabbi  in  sweetest  tones,  "  thou  know- 
179 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

est  I  value  thy  word  like  pure  gold,  but 
when  it  comes  to  a  matter  of  law,  thou 
hadst  best  leave  it  to  me.  Not  only  dare 
we,  we  should !  We  must !  It's  a  Mitzwah." 

Here  was  a  grand  opportunity,  particu 
larly  since  a  stranger  was  present,  for 
Chayim  to  display  the  iron  hand  of  author 
ity,  and  though  he  had  never  read  a  line  of 
Gemorah  in  his  life,  he  blew  out  his  cheeks, 
and  assumed  the  argumentative  tone  of  a 
Talmudist. 

"  If,"  he  said,  beginning  on  a  high  note 
and  throwing  out  his  thumb,  "  our  rules 
declare  we  dare  not  sell  a  plot  of  our  burial- 
ground  to  a  Goy,  how—  "  at  the  bottom  of 
the  scale  and  rising — "  are  we  going  to 
do  it?  " 

The  good  rabbi's  patience  was  as  short 
lived  as  it  was  sweet,  and  Chayim's  foolish 
pretense  at  knowledge  was  always  the 
point  at  which  it  broke. 

"  Chammer,"  he  roared.  "  Did  I  say 
we'll  sell  it  to  him?  We'll  give  it  to  him !  " 

180 


A  GOY  IN  THE  GOOD  PLACE 

And  so  they  did. 

There  were  scrupulous  people  who  threw 
up  their  hands  and  cried  in  horror,  "  A  Goy 
in  the  '  good  place  !-'  There  were  others 
who  prophesied  dire  misfortunes,  but  in 
spite  of  these  the  young  man  was  laid  away 
in  a  corner  of  the  little  Jewish  cemetery, 
the  rabbi  read  the  burial  service,  and  all 
the  pious  women  wept  at  the  grave. 

Yet  nothing  disastrous  happened;  life  in 
the  Gass  went  on  as  before  in  its  dull,  even 
round,  and  the  young  Goy  and  his  grave 
were  soon  forgotten. 

If  one  should  visit  this  little  Jewish 
cemetery,  he  could  find  in  a  corner,  and 
with  but  little  seeking,  a  neglected  grave, 
and,  sunk  deep  among  the  long,  tangled 
grasses,  a  flat  headstone,  upon  which  he 
might  read  to  this  very  day  the  inscription  : 

"  Anton  Flegel. 
He  rests  in  Christ." 


181 


VIII 
GENENDEL  THE  PIOUS 


VIII 
GENENDEL  THE  PIOUS 

All  ideas  are  relative,  not  alone  in  the 
world  at  large  but  also  in  the  Gass.  But  in 
the  Gass  one  is  more  definite.  One  does 
not  say  of  a  man  vaguely,  "  He  is  rich," 
and  leave  you  distractedly  guessing  how 
much  it  is  that  he  has  got. 

No,  one  says  "a  solider  Balbos;"  then 
you  may  know  that  his  income  is  about 
three  hundred  Gulden.  When  one  says  "  a 
ganzer  Rothschild,"  it  is  perhaps  six  hun 
dred.  But  when  one  throws  out  one's 
hands,  purses  up  one's  lips,  and,  rolling 
one's  eyes  heavenward,  cries,  "  Pui,  a 
Chotzen !  "  you  may  know  that  he  has  at 
least  a  thousand  a  year. 

And  as  to  his  material,  so  as  to  his  spiri 
tual  estate,  they  leave  you  not  in  doubt. 
When  a  person  is  reasonably  pious,  one 
185 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

says  of  him,  he  is  "  a  Zaddik."  When  he 
persistently  refuses  to  take  from  a  Gentile 
a  cup  of  coffee — even  without  milk — one 
says  "  a  Chossid."  But  when  his  piety 
reaches  its  utmost  bounds,  leaps  over  and 
runs  wild,  one  says  "  a  whole  Genendel," 
for  Genendel  had  become  a  proverb  in  the 
Gass. 

She  was  so  pious  that  even  frumm  Loe- 
bele  said : 

"  Would  that  mine  were  but  a  little  piece 
of  Genendel's  portion  of  Gan  Eden  [Para 
dise]/' 

There  was  not  a  fast  nor  a  feast,  not  a 
holiday  nor  half-holiday,  not  a  law  or  an 
ordinance  nor  an  inspected  law  or  ordi 
nance  that  Genendel  did  not  keep,  but 
synagogue-going  was  her  strongest  point. 

There  might  have  been  women  in  the 
Gass  who  approached  her  in  this,  but  to 
equal  her  there  was  none. 

So  firmly  established  was  her  synagogue- 
going,  that  when  she  suddenly  left  it  off, 
186 


GENENDEL  THE  PIOUS 


the  Gass  for  a  while  quite  lost  its  equili 
brium,  and  before  it  regained  its  balance, 
Yainkele,  Eisak  Schulklopfer's,  had  got  a 
terrible  dose  of  Makkes;  but  how  this  hap 
pened  shall  be  narrated  later.  First  of 
Genendel  this:  spiritually  she  represented 
the  very  essence  of  beauty,  but  the  visible 
part  of  her  was  just  a  dried  up  little  mother 
with  a  wizened  face,  stoop-shoulders,  and  a 
'  Scheitel.'  Further,  a  bundle, — large, 
bulky,  and  squarish, — which  contained  her 
old  prayer-book,  carefully  screened  from 
profane  eyes  and  sheltered  from  the 
weather  by  the  white  cloth  into  which  it 
was  devotedly  knotted.  The  rest,  a  long 
thread-bare  shawl  and  a  headkerchief, 
which  had  once  glowed  grandly  with  a  bor 
der  of  pink  and  purple  acorns,  but  whose 
frayed  edges  had  been  so  often  trimmed 
and  hemmed  again,  that  it  now  was  but  a 
black  wisp,  whose  short  ends  fluttered 
limply  in  the  wind,  and  let  all  the  cruel 
snowflakes  sting  Genendel's  neck. 

187 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Genendel  was  very  poor.  Even  the  Gass 
admitted  this;  and  when  one  is  poor  in  the 
Gass,  one  is  most  wofully  poor.  Also  she 
was  proud;  at  any  rate  so  the  Gass  thought, 
for  she  kept  to  herself,  and  let  no  one  pry 
into  her  affairs,  and  when  in  her  bitterest 
days  one  asked  sympathetically,  "  How 
goes  it,  Genendel? "  she  did  not  wail, 
"  Wai,  mir,"  but  set  her  lips,  and  answered 
curtly,  "  Nu,  it  goes,"  which  translated 
into  clear  language  means,  "  Mind  thine 
own  affairs." 

She  lived  in  a  single  small  room,  and  she 
lived  quite  alone,  for  her  only  son — the  last 
of  six — had  gone  to  America,  and  there, 
in  the  wicked  New  World,  he  had  forgotten 
his  old  mother.  But  Genendel  never  com 
plained.  At  least  no  one  ever  heard  her. 
It  may  be  that  she  complained  to  God,  for 
she  went  to  Schul  twice  every  day.  This, 
as  every  one  knows,  is  not  even  proper  for 
a  woman;  but  still  Genendel  did  it.  And 
there  in  a  corner  of  the  women's  gallery 
188 


GENENDEL  THE  PIOUS 


she  prayed  out  of  her  old  black  Siddur; 
and  sometimes,  when  the  cold  had  been 
most  cruelly  bitter,  and  her  soup  most  piti 
fully  thin,  slow  tears  would  drop  upon  its 
yellow  pages. 

And  now  comes  the  tale  of  how  Eisak 
Schulklopfer's  Yainkele  got  his  dose  of 
Makkes — for  once  in  his  life  quite  unjustly. 
It  happened  in  this  wise. 

One  Sunday  morning  Yainkele  lay  even 
later  than  usual  abed,  and  though  his 
mother  had  twice  called,  "  Out  with  thee, 
lazybones, — thou'lt  be  late  for  school !  "  he 
did  not  budge. 

"  Tis  not  time  yet,"  said  Yainkele,  at 
length. 

"How  dost  know?" 

"  Genendel  has  not  gone  to  Schul  yet; " 
for  Genendel  was  Yainkele's  clock,  and  he 
had  his  eyes  on  the  synagogue  door.  So 
when  Yainkele  arrived  at  the  Cheder  a 
full  hour  late,  Reb  Itzig  Melamed  began 

189 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

to  beat  him  soundly,  nor  did  he  desist  when 
Yainkele  roared: 

"  Can  I  help  it?  Genendel  did  not  go  to 
Schul  to-day." 

"What?"  cried  Reb  Itzig.  "  Art 
dreaming? — art  still  asleep?  Wait,  I'll 
wake  thee  up !  "  and  leathered  away  more 
vigorously  than  before. 

A  group  of  gossips  in  Maryam's  Back- 
stub  that  day  discussed  it  thus: 

"  By  rights,"  said  one,  "  the  Makkes 
should  have  been  Genendel's,  for  after  all 
these  years  how  was  Yainkele  to  know  that 
she  would  not  go  to  Schul  to-day?  " 

"  Perhaps  she  is  sick,"  suggested  some 
one. 

"  Adrabbe,"  said  another,  "  she  is  very 
well.  When  I  heard  that  she  had  not  been 
to  Schul,  I  went  at  once  to  see  if  aught  be 
wrong  with  her,  and  I  found  her  knitting 
by  a  nice  warm  stove  and  singing  thereto — 
I  tell  you,  like  the  Rodower  Chazan  on 
Simchas  Thora." 

190 


GENENDEL  THE  PIOUS 


"  'Twas  a  bitter  day/'  said  another,  "  and 
Genendel  is  getting  old." 

"  Nay,  'twas  not  the  weather  either,  for 
right  in  the  thickest  of  the  storm  she  was 
seen  going  to  Machel  Katzev's,  where  she 
bought  a  half  pound  of  meat." 

"  A  half  pound  of  meat !  Genendel  must 
have  money." 

"  Why  has  she  not  money?  " 

"  Shtuss !  From  where  should  Genendel 
get  money?  " 

"  She  received  money  from  that  Poshe 
Berl,  her  son." 

"  How  knowest  thou  that?  " 

"  Have  you  not  heard  that  she  got  a 
letter?  " 

"  Truly,  we  have  heard.  The  letter  was 
from  Poland." 

"  The  letter  was  from  America." 

"  From  America?  "  cried  they  all.  "  Who 
toldthee?" 

"  Gitel  told  me.  She  was  so  fidgety 
with  wishing  to  know  from  whom  it  was, 

191 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 


that  Shaye  Soldat  said  he  would  go  find 
out" 

"What,  Shaye  asked  Genendel?  I  do 
not  believe  it.  She  would  have  thrown 
him  out." 

"  He   did   not   ask   her.     Trust   Shaye, 
that  Ganef,  to  find  out  what  he  wishes  to 
know.     '  Hast  heard,  Genendel,'  he  said, 
'  the  bad  news  from  America?  ' '  Nay/  Gen 
endel  said,  '  what  news? '  '  They  have  had 
such  a  drought  there  that  the  creek  ran 
dry,  whereupon  it  grew  so  cold  that  the 
town-pump  froze  up,  and  the  people  nearly 
perished  with  a  water  famine,'  Shaye  said. 
Genendel  looked  real  worried.     '  A  water 
famine  in  America !  Strange  that  he  should 
not  have  mentioned  it,'  she  said." 
"  It  must  have  been  from  Berl." 
"  From  whom  else  but  from  Berl?  " 
But  the  surprising  fact   that  Genendel 
had  not  gone  to  Schul  on  a  certain  day  was 
presently  drowned  in  the  amazing  circum 
stance  that  she  now  ceased  entirely  from 
192 


GENENDEL  THE  PIOUS 


going.  Skeptics  did  not  believe  it,  and 
they  went  at  prayer-time  to  walk  past  her 
window.  From  thence  they  brought  wild 
reports, — such  as  this: 

"  She  no  longer  eats  meat  on  one  day 
and  the  soup  on  the  next;  but  both  to 
gether — the  meat  and  the  soup  in  a  single 
day."  And  this: 

"  She  stuffs  her  stove  full  of  wood,  as  if 
she  were  the  Countess  of  Reichenberg." 
Also  this: 

"  She  has  a  new  Sabbath-pot/' 

The  scandal  of  Genendel's  defection  be 
came  so  great,  that  the  noise  of  it  reached 
even  the  rabbi,  Reb  Yoshe  Levisohn,  that 
great  Chossid  of  whom  it  is  said,  "  He  is 
so  deep  in  his  studies  that  usser  does  he 
know,  is  he  living  or  is  he  not  living."  At 
noon  his  wife  must  place  the  dish  before 
him  and  the  fork  at  his  hand. 

"  Why  dost  disturb  me?     What  is  this?  " 
grumbles  the  great  Reb  Yoshe. 
193 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  This  is  thy  dinner,"  says  the  Rebbet- 
zin. 

Then  first  does  he  know  it  is  time  to  eat. 

Reb  Yoshe  scorned  the  voice  of  gossip, 
but  on  a  Sabbath  morning-  he  noticed  that 
Genendel  had  not  waited  for  him  at  the 
door  of  the  synagogue  to  wish  him  "  gut 
Shabbes,"  as  for  years  had  been  her  wont. 
So  after  his  dinner  he  despatched  his  ser 
vant  to  see  if  aught  be  wrong  with  her. 

And  Mirl  returned  with  this  report : 

"  So  may  something  be  wrong  with  me 
as  it  is  wrong  with  Genendel !  A  new  silk 
apron  she  has — brown  silk — a  Gulden  the 
yard — and  a  new  lace  cap  with  a  purple 
ribbon  in  it,  and  stewed  apples  and  raisins 
she  is  eating, — I  tell  you  by  the  table- 
spoonful." 

R;eb  Yoshe  eyed  his  servant  gravely. 

"  Envy  is  the  rottenness  of  the  bones," 
he  said;  whereat  Mirl  fled  to  the  kitchen. 
But  to  his  wife  he  said : 

"  What  is  this  about  Genendel?  " 
194 


GENENDEL  THE  PIOUS 


"  Do  I  know?  Do  I  listen  to  the  gossip 
of  the  people?  They  say  her  son  Berl 
sends  her  much  money  from  America," 
said  the  Rebbetzin. 

Reb  Yoshe  looked  perplexed. 

"  For  more  than  twenty  years, — in  her 
widowhood, — in  her  poverty, — when  her 
children  died,  she  has  been  going  to  Schul 
— and  now  in  her  prosperity—  He 
stroked  his  beard  thoughtfully.  "  I  think 
I'll  go  see  Genendel,"  he  said. 

Then  word  went  forth  that  the  Rav,  the 
great  Reb  Yoshe  Levisohn,  who  rarely 
went  into  another's  house,  was  coming  to 
Genendel,  and  officious  ones  ran  to  tell  her 
of  it,  and  also  to  see  her  wither.  But  she 
did  not  wither.  No,  she  laid  a  new  white 
cloth  upon  the  table;  placed  thereon  her 
Kiddush-cup,  and  rolled  beside  it  her  own 
arm-chair.  And  when  he  came,  she  said, 
"  God's  welcome,  Rebbe  Leben,"  bade  him 
be  seated,  and  gave  him  wine  and  cake. 
Nay,  nay — none  of  your  raisin  wine  and 
195 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

home-made  Dalklech.  'Twas  real  red  wine 
that  one  buys  at  Reb  Shlome's  for  heavy 
money,  and  the  cakes  were  of  Maryam's 
best. 

Genendel's  eyes  grew  moist  as  she  gazed 
at  the  great  Reb  Yoshe  partaking  of  her 
hospitality. 

"  May  the  Rebbe  live  a  hundred  years," 
she  cried.  "  I  would  that  my  Ephroim — 
he  rests  in  Paradise — had  lived  to  see  this 
happy  day  when  the  Rebbe — his  virtues  be 
to  us  a  blessing — honors  my  poor  dwelling. 
I  beg  the  Rebbe  to  bless  me."  And  she 
bent  her  head,  and  the  rabbi  laid  his  hands 
upon  it  and  blessed  her,  while  Genendel 
sobbed  aloud  in  pure  happiness  and  pride. 

"  Is  it  true,"  said  the  rabbi,  when  Genen 
del  had  dried  her  eyes  and  stood  again 
smiling  before  him,  "  is  it  true,  what  is 
said  of  thee,  that  thou  no  longer  goest  to 
Schul?  " 

"  It  is  true,"  said  Genendel. 

"  Wie  haisst?  "  said  the  rabbi. 
196 


GENENDEL  THE  PIOUS 


Genendel  smiled  sweetly, 

"  The  Rebbe  has  not  forgotten  my  son 
Berl,  who  went  to  America  and  of  whom 
the  people  said  bitter  things — that  he  has 
deserted  his  old  mother — and  worse.  It 
is  not  true,  Rebbe.  He  is  a  good  son. 
He  has  not  forgotten  me.  He  had,  alas, 
much  bad  fortune,  there  in  America,  but 
now,  thank  God,  it  goes  well  with  him. 
He  now  sends  me  twenty  Gulden  every 
month,  and  says  he  will  send  it  so  long  as  I 
live."  Genendel  paused. 

"  Nu?  "  said  the  rabbi. 

"  So  why  should  I  go  to  Schul,  Rebbe 
Leben?"  said  Genendel. 

Now  the  Rav  was  a  great  scholar,  a  Tal- 
mid  Chochem,  a  rare  Lamden,  but  it  is  a 
fact  that  at  this  moment  he  found  not  a 
word  of  reply.  He  sat  quite  still  with  his 
mouth  open. 

"  If  anyone  had  told  me  this  of  thee,"  he 
said  at  length,  sadly,  "  I  should  not  have 
believed  it." 

197 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

It  was  Genendel  now  who  looked  sur 
prised. 

"  Wie  haisst,  Rebbe?  "  she  said  in  much 
distress. 

"  '  Jeshurun  waxed  fat  and  kicked — then 
he  forsook  God  who  made  him/  "  quoted 
Reb  Yoshe  in  Hebrew,  which  Genendel 
did  not  understand  at  all.  "  Now  that  the 
Lord  has  provided  for  thee,  thou  no  longer 
hast  need  of  Him — what?  "  he  went  on  in 
Genendel's  own  tongue. 

"  It  is  as  the  Rebbe  says,"  said  Genendel, 
simply. 

"  And  thou  art  not  even  ashamed  to  con 
fess  it?  How  was  I  deceived  in  thee,  Gen 
endel!  I  thought  thou  wast  like  them  of 
whom  it  is  written,  '  Happy  are  they  that 
dwell  in  Thy  house,  they  do  praise  Thee 
continually/ ' 

Genendel  looked  puzzled. 

"  Does  the  Lord  really  wish  that?  "  she 
said  incredulously. 

"  Wish  what?  " 

198 


GENENDEL  THE  PIOUS 


"  That  one  praise  Him  continually.  I 
am  only  an  ignorant  woman,  but,  forgive 
me,  Rebbe — that  I  do  not  believe.  We  all 
know  what  a  Chossid  is  the  Rebbe — how 
he  does  good  to  the  poor — though,  God 
knows,  he  has  not  much  himself,  and  would 
eat  dry  bread  the  week  round,  were  it  not 
for  the  bit  of  butter  which  Malka  Loew 
sends  him.  We  all  know  how  he  does  kind 
ness  to  the  Rodower  Bochur, — how  he 
gives  him  food  and  clothes  and  keeps  him 
like  a  child  of  his  house.  Now  supposing 
the  Rodower  should  come  every  day  before 
the  Rebbe  and  cry  out — '  O,  I  thank  the 
Rebbe, — O,  how  good,  is  the  Rebbe — how 
kind,  how  noble,  how  wise  is  the  Rebbe ! ' 
—would  the  Rebbe  like  that?  Would  he 
not  tell  him  to  hold  his  tongue?  Would  he 
not  throw  him  out  of  the  house?  " 

Reb  Yoshe  eyed  Genendel  queerly,  and 
something  like  a  smile  fluttered  around  his 
lips, 

"  Ah,  so, — thou  wouldst  not  anger  the 
199 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Lord.  Verily,  Genendel  thou  wilt  yet  be 
wise,  for  it  is  written,  '  The  fear  of  the 
Lord  is  the  beginning  of  wisdom,'  "  and 
Reb  Yoshe  laughed  softly  into  his  beard. 
"Yes,  Rebbe  Leben — that  is  what  I 
mean,"  cried  Genendel.  "  It  is  because  I 
fear  the  Lord  that  I  do  not  go  to  Schul. 
Many  a  day  I  feel  that  I  would  like  to  go, — 
even  though  I  no  longer  have  need  of  it, — 
for  it  has  become  a  strong  habit  with  me, 
this  Schul-going.  But  I  do  not  go.  I  be 
think  me  of  a  story  which  my  father — peace 
be  to  him — used  to  tell,  about  their  Count 
in  Poland,  where  he  lived.  This  Count 
was  a  very  charitable  man.  Every  day 
when  he  came  out  of  his  house  to  go  to  the 
hunt,  his  door-step  would  be  full  of  beg 
gars,  and  to  all  he  gave.  There  was  one 
beggar — his  name  was  Mattis — who  was 
there  every  day.  No  sooner  did  the  Count 
come  out  of  his  door,  than  there  was  Mattis 
crying,  l  O,  your  Grace,  I  am  so  poor  and 
wretched/  And  the  Count  would  give  him 
200 


GENENDEL  THE  PIOUS 


bread  or  wood  or  money,  as  was  his  need. 
But  in  a  day  or  two  he  would  be  there 
again,  crying,  'O,  your  Grace,  I  am  so  poor 
and  wretched.'  Well,  one  day  when  there 
were  not  so  many  beggars,  the  Count 
looked  at  Mattis,  and  his  heart  ached  for 
the  beggar.  'It  is  sad,'  he  said,  'that  an  old, 
feeble  man  should  have  to  beg  here  in  the 
cold,'  and  he  gave  orders  to  his  servant, 
that  Mattis  be  given  a  Gulden  every  week 
so  long  as  he  live,  that  he  need  no  longer 
beg.  And  Mattis  was  happy.  He  bought 
bread  and  herring  and  a  new  coat — in  short 
he  was  a  made  man.  But  Mattis  had  gotten 
so  used  to  standing  every  day  on  the 
Count's  door-step,  that  he  did  not  know 
what  else  to  do,  and  a  few  days  thereafter, 
when  the  Count  came  out  of  his  house  to 
go  to  the  hunt,  as  usual,  there  was  Mattis, 
standing  again  on  his  door-step.  '  For 
Heaven's  sake,  Mattis,'  the  Count  cried, 
'  what  dost  want  now?  Have  I  not  pro 
vided  for  thee?  '  Then  Mattis  began  to  cry, 
201 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

'  Yes,  your  Grace,  I  thank  your  Grace, 
but  O,  your  Grace,  I  was  so  poor  and 
wretched, — O,  I  was  so  poor  and 
wretched ! '  The  Count  got  terribly  an 
gry.  He  took  Mattis  by  the  collar,  and 
threw  him  down  the  steps,  so  that  he  fell 
and  broke  both  his  legs,  sprained  his  hand, 
and  bumped  his  head,  and  moreover  he  in 
jured  his  inwards.  Nobody  blamed  the 
Count.  He  had  done  what  he  could  for  the 
beggar,  and  he  wanted  Menuchah.  So  it 
is  with  the  Lord  and  me,  Rebbe  Leben. 
For  years  I  cried  to  Him  every  day,  and 
He  has  had  mercy  on  me — He  has  not 
let  me  starve,  though,  God  knows,  there 
was  often  not  enough  from  one  day  to  the 
next.  But  now  He  has  helped  for  good. 
He  has  done  what  He  could  for  me,  and 
now  He  wants  to  be  rid  of  me,  for,  God 
knows,  there  are  enough  beggars  to  bother 
Him.  Nay,  Rebbe  Leben.  whenever  I  feel 
I  want  to  go  to  Schul,  I  bethink  me  of 
Mattis,  and  stay  at  home." 


IX 
A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 


IX 
A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 

"  Yes,  it  was  always  so,  and  there  is  no 
harm  in  it.  Our  Herr  Pfarrer  is  a  holy 
man,  and  Reb  Nathan  is  quite  decent, — O, 
yes,  quite  decent.  In  the  winter  he  keeps 
the  money  for  the  farmers,  and  he  makes 
no  charge  for  it,  either.  He  is  an  honest 
Jew,— Reb  Nathan." 

Thus  spoke  the  old  landlord  of  "The 
Gray  Ass  "  to  a  stranger  seated  in  his  hos 
pitable  door-way.  It  was  always  a  stran 
ger  who  remarked  upon  the  unusual  sight 
of  a  Catholic  priest  and  a  Jew  walking  with 
linked  arms  and  seemingly  absorbed  in 
each  other. 

The  people  of  Peltau  had  long  been 
familiar  with  the  sight  of  these  inseparable 
friends  roaming  through  the  woods  and 
fields  together. 

205 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

The  older  people  remembered  how  these 
two  as  boys  had  grown  up  together;  how 
through  the  short  vacations  they  had  clung 
to  each  other  as  though  united  by  an  invisi 
ble  bond;  and  how  they  had  sorrowed  when 
sent  to  their  separate  schools. 

"  Thou  wilt  not  forget  me?  "  was  then 
Ferdinand's  sobbing  query. 

"  I  shall  love  thee  as  long  as  I  live/'  re 
plied  Nathan,  earnestly. 

They  remembered,  too,  the  interest  and 
excitement  in  the  village  when  Ferdinand 
was  ordained  a  priest,  and  sent  to  a  distant 
province  to  begin  his  work  for  the  Church. 
They  knew  that  the  sadder  heart  on  that 
occasion  was  Nathan's.  But  they  knew 
naught  of  his  longing  for  his  friend,  of  his 
anxiety  between  the  rare  and  irregular 
mails,  of  his  pain  and  grief  when  Ferdi 
nand's  letters  became  shorter  and  less  fre 
quent,  and  finally  stopped  altogether.  Nor 
did  they  know  that  when  Nathan,  through 
the  magnificent  indulgence  of  the  Govern- 
206 


A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 

ment,  was  permitted  to  rent  a  farm  and 
give  up  his  uncongenial  profession  of  teach 
ing,  and  when  he  married  the  wife  of  his 
love,  and  rejoiced  in  the  birth  of  his  first 
born,  he  still  cherished  the  memory  of  his 
friend,  for  a  sight  of  whose  beloved  face  he 
had  long  ceased  to  hope. 

Fifteen  years  had  passed  since  Ferdi 
nand  left  the  village,  when  one  summer 
morning,  Nathan,  walking  through  his 
fields  of  ripening  grain,  heard  the  tinkle  of 
the  distant  church-bell  come  swinging 
through  the  air. 

"  The  new  priest  will  be  reading  his  first 
mass,"  thought  he,  and  he  hummed  the 
familiar  strain  of  the  "  Kyrie  Eleison." 

An  hour  later  the  priest  himself,  taking 
the  short  cut  through  the  farm  to  the 
neighboring  parish  of  Eberdorf,  came  walk 
ing  past  Nathan's  house.  Nathan  waited 
in  his  door-way,  hat  in  hand,  to  give  him 
greeting.  The  priest  walked  by  and  down 
the  sunlit  road.  A  swallow  twittered;  an 

207 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

odor  of  pines  hung  in  the  air;  an  old  melo 
dy,  like  a  wind-borne  echo,  sang  in 

Nathan's  heart, — 

"  Freude,  schoner  Cotter funken, 
Tochter  aus  Elysium," 

and  he  gazed  at  the  retreating  figure  with 
a  strange,  vague  feeling  of  pleasure,  like 
one  who  has  awakened  from  a  happy 
though  forgotten  dream. 

In  the  evening  he  awaited  the  priest's 
return. 

"  God's  welcome  to  Peltau,  your  Rever 
ence,"  he  said. 

"  My  hearty  thanks,"  replied  the  priest, 
and  he  stopped  to  pat  the  cheek  of  the  lit 
tle  girl  whom  Nathan  held  by  the  hand. 
Suddenly  he  started  and  looked  up  from 
the  child's  into  the  father's  face. 

"  Nathan !  "  he  cried. 

"Ferdinand!" 

And  the  men  fell  into  each  other's  arms. 

From  that  day  the  old,  happy  compan 
ionship  began  anew.  The  priest  spent  all 

208 


A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 

his  leisure  in  the  Jew's  house,  and  little 
Leah  soon  learned  to  lay  her  head  con 
fidingly  on  "  Uncle  Pfarrer's  "  breast.  It 
was  well  known  that,  if  one  sought  the 
priest,  he  was  to  be  found  in  the  Jew's 
house.  When  Nathan,  returning  from  the 
synagogue  on  a  Friday  night,  brought  a 
strange  Schnorrer  home  with  him,  the 
priest's  presence  in  the  house  was  ex 
plained  by  the  story  of  their  boyhood. 
Then  Nathan's  young,  dark-eyed  wife 
would  sit  and  smile  quietly  at  the  oft-re 
peated  tales  of  youthful  dreamings  and 
roamings;  at  the  happy  reminiscences  of 
jaunts  and  journeys;  at  the  merry  recollec 
tions  of  clandestine,  woodland  meetings, 
where  the  delightful,  forbidden  Schiller  was 
eagerly  devoured  and  faithfully  imitated. 

Time  went  on,  and  then  came  the  winter, 
when  the  priest  became  strangely  quiet  and 
melancholy,  and  rarely  left  the  parsonage. 
His  housekeeper,  a  beautiful,  pale-faced 
woman,  known  to  the  village  as  "  Frau 
209 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Wirthschafterin,"  would  often  come  and 
carry  little  Leah  to  spend  the  day  at  "  Un 
cle  Pfarrer's." 

And  the  child  returned  with  hands  full 
of  honey-cakes,  and  asked  her  mother, — 

"  Mamma  Leben,  why  does  Frau  Wirth 
schafterin  weep  when  she  kisses  me?" 

"  Does  she  weep  then? "  replied  the 
mother,  while  the  color  left  her  face.  "  Per 
haps  she  is  not  happy,  the  poor  Frau 
Wirthschafterin." 

About  this  time  Nathan's  second  child 
was  born,  and,  soon  after,  the  priest  was 
transferred  to  the  larger  and  richer  parish 
of  Prague. 

"  It's  a  long  way  off.  One  could  hardly 
ride  it  in  three  hours  with  a  fleet  horse," 
lamented  Nathan. 

The  priest  was  now  rarely  seen  in  the  vil 
lage.  He  pleaded  the  burden  of  his  new 
labors.  Nathan  grieved  in  silence. 

One  bitter  cold  night  in  midwinter,  Reb 
210 


A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 

Nathan  was  aroused  by  a  sound  as  of  hail 
stones  against  his  window. 

"  It  cannot  hail  in  such  a  frost.  Those 
stones  came  not  from  the  sky,"  he  thought. 

He  hurried  to  the  window,  and  in  the 
darkness  descried  what  looked  like  the 
fluttering  of  garments.  He  hastened  down, 
flung  open  the  door,  and  caught  in  his  arms 
the  staggering  form  of  a  man. 

"  Quick !  "  gasped  the  man.  "  Get  a  fire, 
—quick !  It  is  frozen !  " 

"  God  have  mercy ! "  cried  Nathan,  and 
he  lifted  up  his  candle,  and  gazed  in  amaze 
ment  into  the  blue,  twitching  face  of  his 
friend. 

The  priest  had  hurried  to  the  stove,  and 
was  holding  a  bundle  close  to  the  glow  of 
the  fire. 

"  What  has  happened?  What  hast  thou 
there?  "  cried  Nathan. 

A  low  moan  escaped  the  priest.  He 
lifted  the  covering  from  one  end  of  the 
211 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

bundle,  and  disclosed  the  face  of  a  sleeping 
infant. 

"  It  is — my  son,"  wailed  he. 

"  Thy  son?  "  gasped  Nathan. 

"  I  swear  by  Heaven/'  cried  the  priest, 
passionately,  "  she  was  my  wife,  and  the 
purest,  sweetest  woman  that  ever  lived." 

"  Frau  Wirthschafterin,"  murmured  Na 
than. 

"  She  is  dead !  "  sobbed  the  priest,  and  he 
buried  his  face  upon  the  form  of  the  child 
in  his  arms. 

All  through  the  night  the  two  men  re 
mained  together,  and  dawn  still  found  them 
seated  with  hand  clasped  in  hand. 

"  He  shall  be  my  son  and  bear  my  name, 
and  I  will  love  him  as  my  own,"  said 
Nathan  at  parting,  and  he  folded  the  babe 
close  in  his  arms,  and  murmured  a  prayer 
for  the  beloved  friend,  whose  form  was  dis 
appearing  in  the  mist.  The  priest  crept 
away  in  the  twilight,  cold  and  gray  as  his 
life 

212 


A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 

i 

In  six  short  years  the  people  of  Peltau 

had  almost  forgotten  that  little  Rudolph 
was  not  Reb  Nathan's  son.  If  a  stranger 
smoking  his  pipe  in  front  of  the  tavern  saw 
Rachel  with  her  children,  he  would  perhaps 
remark, — 

"  Strange  that  the  dark  woman  should 
have  so  fair  a  child." 

Then  the  landlord  and  his  "  Stamm- 
gaste  "  would  arouse  themselves  slowly,  as 
from  a  dream,  and  one  would  perhaps  re 
member  and  say, — 

"  He  is  not  her  child." 

"  Who  are  his  parents? "  asks  the 
stranger. 

"  Who  knows?  "  replies  the  other,  and 
the  old  cronies  blow  huge  clouds  of  smoke, 
and  wink  slyly  at  each  other. 

And  the  people  had  almost  forgotten 
that  Rudolph  was  a  Christian  child,  and 
was  being  raised  in  the  Catholic  faith.  But 
the  child  had  not  been  permitted  to  forget. 
His  earliest  recollection  was,  that  at  meal 

213 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

time  he  must  wait  at  the  door  until  the  He 
brew  grace  had  been  said.  Then  he  might 
come  to  table,  and  say  alone  a  short  grace 
which  "  Uncle  Pfarrer "  had  taught  him. 
The  other  boys  went  to  the  Cheder  to  learn 
Hebrew  with  the  rabbi,  but  Rudie  did  his 
lessons  at  home  with  his  father.  On  Satur 
day  all  the  people  went  to  the  synagogue 
while  he  sat  outside.  On  Sunday  the  ta 
bles  were  turned.  Rudie  sat  in  the  church 
listening  to  mass,  while  Reb  Nathan  waited 
on  the  door-step. 

In  the  long  winter  twilights  Rachel 
taught  her  daughters  from  the  thick  black 
Siddur;  but  Rudie  sat  at  the  far  end  of  the 
room,  learning  long  Latin  prayers  from  a 
book  that  had  a  frightful  picture  of  Jesus 
crucified  upon  the  front  page.  The  picture 
terrified  him,  for  great,  shining  drops  of 
blood  fell  from  the  head  and  hands  of 
Christ;  the  body  was  open  at  the  breast, 
and  showed  a  bleeding  heart  with  a  dagger 
thrust  through. 

214 


A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 

Those  were  dismal  hours.  The  lonely 
little  boy  gazed  longingly  at  the  pleasant 
group  at  the  other  side  of  the  room,  and 
Rachel's  motherly  heart  ached  in  sym 
pathy. 

Then,  one  day,  the  child  suddenly  stood 
before  her  with  a  white  face  and  said, — 

"  The  people  say  thou  art  my  step 
mother.  It  is  true.  Thou  dost  not  love 
me." 

"Woe  is  me!"  cried  Rachel.  "My 
Rudie  Leben,  my  lamb!  Do  not  heed 
them.  The  people  have  evil  tongues." 
But  that  night  she  said  to  her  husband, — 

"  Is  it  not  a  greater  sin  to  press  tears 
from  the  heart  of  an  innocent  child  than  to 
let  him  listen  to  our  good,  pious  prayers?  " 

"  We  must  be  careful  not  to  influence 
him,"  replied  Reb  Nathan,  anxiously. 

"  He  need  not  listen,  only  let  him  be  with 
us,"  urged  Rachel. 

From  that  day  Rudie,  with  a  wad  of  cot 
ton  in  each  ear,  sat  beside  his  mother  when 

215 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

she  instructed  her  daughters,  and  gradually 
he  crept  his  way  into  all  the  family  services. 

"  Sure  thou  art  not  listening,  Rudie  Le- 
ben?  "  Rachel  would  cry  warningly. 

"  Thou  couldst  strike  me  dead  and  I 
would  not  know,  was  it  Esau  or  Jacob  that 
had  the  hairy  hands,"  said  Rudie. 

When  Rudie  was  twelve  years  old,  he 
was  ready  for  the  Gymnasium,  and 
"  Uncle  Pfarrer "  decided  that  he  must 
come  to  live  with  him  in  Prague. 

There  was  sorrowing  in  Reb  Nathan's 
household. 

"  Is  there  one  in  that  great,  wicked  city 
who  knows  how  to  make  a  pea-soup  as  he 
loves  it?  Who  will  tell  him  to  wrap  a 
shawl  around  his  neck  when  the  wind 
blows?  "  lamented  Rachel. 

"  He  is  only  loaned  to  us,"  sighed 
Nathan. 

"  I  shall  come  home  every  week,"  cried 
Rudolph,  weeping  in  chorus  with  his  sis 
ters. 

216 


A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 

The  priest,  Ferdinand  Ulm,  had  a  fine 
house  in  Prague.  Rudolph's  room  was 
full  of  books;  he  had  a  wardrobe  with  hand 
some  clothes,  and,  when  he  ate,  a  servant 
stood  behind  his  chair. 

"  But  it  is  better  at  home,"  thought  he, 
and  he  awaited  the  coming  of  Friday  with 
eagerness.  On  that  day,  through  foul 
weather  or  fair,  Reb  Nathan  came  to  take 
him  home.  That  was  the  joy  of  existence. 
The  long,  pleasant  ride  behind  old  Schim- 
mel;  the  home-coming;  the  happiness  of 
feeling  his  mother's  arms  around  him  and 
laying  his  head  upon  her  soft  bosom;  the 
sweet  smell  of  the  baking  Barches;  the  fun 
of  helping  to  set  the  table;  the  quietly 
joyous  service  of  lighting  the  Sabbath  lamp 
and  ushering  in  the  holy  day;  the  inter 
change  of  tales  with  his  sisters  of  the  hap 
penings  of  the  week;  the  return  of  Reb 
Nathan  from  the  synagogue;  the  solemn 
joy  of  feeling  his  father's  'hand  laid  in  bless 
ing  upon  his  head.  Then  the  supper,  with 
217 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

a  separate  little  loaf  of  Barches,  stuffed  full 
of  raisins,  all  for  himself.  How  much  bet 
ter  the  wooden  bench  beside  his  mother 
than  the  leathern  chair  at  "  Uncle  Pfar- 
rer's!" 

As  time  went  on,  the  Pfarrer  Ulm  be 
came  renowned  in  Prague  for  his  pulpit 
oratory.  None  could  preach  as  he  did  of 
sin  and  repentance. 

"  Sacrament !  "  said  his  hearers.  "  One 
sees  hell-fire  and  smells  brimstone,  and 
one's  hair  stands  on  end." 

As  his  sermons  increased  in  fire,  his 
frame  became  smaller,  his  face  whiter,  and 
the  gaze  of  his  eyes  more  strange.  When 
Reb  Nathan  now  spent  an  hour  with  him, 
he  had  but  one  theme — Atonement. 

"  My  son  must  atone !  He  must  atone !  " 
he  repeated  continually. 

Then  days  came  when  the  priest  had  no 
longer  strength  to  preach;  when  he  lay 
white  and  wild  upon   his  bed,   and   Reb 
Nathan  rarely  left  his  side. 
218 


A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 

Rudolph  was  in  his  eighteenth  year  when 
Ferdinand  Ulm  died.  He  died,  confessed 
and  absolved,  in  the  bosom  of  the  Catholic 
Church.  But  it  was  the  Jew's  ear  that 
heard  his  last  wishes  and  prayers;  the  Jew's 
hand  that  closed  his  eyes  in  death;  the 
Jew's  heart  that  sorrowed  with  a  deep  and 
deathless  sorrow. 

The  priest's  death  made  but  little  change 
in  Rudolph's  life.  He  continued  his  studies 
at  Prague,  simply  changing  his  place  of 
residence  to  that  of  a  Catholic  family  there. 
But  he  returned  oftener  to  Peltau,  re 
mained  longer,  and  left  his  home  reluctant- 

iy. 

The  summer  of  the  year  that  followed 
was  drawing  to  its  end;  the  school  semester 
was  about  to  begin,  but  Rudolph  still  lin 
gered  at  the  farm,  and  made  no  visible 
preparations  for  his  departure. 

"What's  the  matter  with  thee,  Ru 
dolph?  "  said  Nathan,  one  day.  "  I  see 

219 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

that  the  University  opens  to-morrow,  and 
thou  art  yet  here?  " 

"  There  is  no  haste,"  replied  Rudolph. 

"What  has  come  over  thee?"  cried 
Nathan.  "  Thou  didst  use  to  be  more  faith 
ful." 

"  Let  me  stay  until  after  the  holidays," 
said  Rudolph,  pleadingly. 

"  The  holidays !  What  hast  thou  to  do 
with  our  holidays?  "  said  Nathan,  with  a 
shrug. 

The  young  man  turned  white  to  the 
lips. 

"  I  love  them !  "  he  murmured  fervently. 
But  Nathan  did  not  hear.  He  was  at  the 
door,  calling  to  his  wife  to  pack  Rudolph's 
trunk. 

A  few  weeks  later,  Reb  Nathan  travelled 
to  Prague  to  hear  the  great  Rabbi  Ger- 
shon,  who  had  come  from  Cracow  to 
preach  and  collect  for  the  persecuted  Jews 
of  Poland.  The  old  Schul  was  crowded. 
220 


A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 

and  a  solemn  silence,  like  that  of  Yom 
Kippur,  reigned  in  the  assembly. 

"  They  have  cast  them  out  of  their 
homes,  those  poor  homes  earned  by  the 
sweat  of  their  brows,  the  blood  of  their 
lives.  They  have  beaten,  hounded,  plund 
ered  them.  They  have  reviled  and  eursed 
them;  stoned  their  children,  defiled  their 
maidens,  murdered  their  sons,"  said  the 
rabbi. 

A  familiar,  time-worn  story,  old  as  the 
memory  of  man.  Yet  the  people  wept.  In 
front  of  Reb  Nathan  stood  a  young  man 
who  grieved  not  with  the  resigned  sorrow 
of  long-suffering  patience.  He  flung  his 
arms  up  against  the  wall  near  which  he 
stood,  buried  his  face  upon  them,  and 
shook  in  every  limb  with  a  paroxysm  of 
grief.  At  the  Kaddish  which  ended  the 
service  he  wrapped  his  face  in  his  Tallith 
and  sobbed  aloud. 

"  He  may  be  a  stranger,  and  one  of  them 

221 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

that  have  suffered,"  thought  Nathan.  "  He 
may  be  in  need  of  a  word  of  comfort." 

Reb  Nathan  waited  until  the  synagogue 
was  empty,  and  still  the  stranger  remained, 
wrapped  in  melancholy  reflections. 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Reb  Nathan,  ap 
proaching  and  laying  his  hand  upon  the 
young  man's  shoulder. 

The  stranger  lifted  his  Tallith  and  turned 
his  head. 

Then  a  cry  went  up  that  tore  the  air. 

"Rudolph!" 

The  slumbering  echoes  leaped  forth  from 
their  dark  recesses,  and  repeated  the  name 
fearfully  among  the  old,  black  rafters. 

"Art  thou  gone  mad? — thou,  a  Catho 
lic  ! "  cried  Nathan,  fearfully,  and  the 
young  man  heard  for  the  first  time  the 
story  of  his  birth. 

Full  many  a  strange  sight  had  the  time- 
stained  walls  of  the  old  synagogue  looked 
down  upon  in  the  long  years  of  their  exis 
tence,  yet  none  more  strange  than  the  one 
222 


A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 

which  unfolded  there  on  that  day.  A 
Catholic  cried  out  for  the  God  of  Israel. 
A  pious  Jew  pleaded  for  Jesus  the  Christ. 

"  My  tongue  shall  not  speak  what  my 
heart  does  not  echo,"  cried  Rudolph.  "  At 
mass  the  priest  intones  the  Paternoster, 
but  my  heart  still  vibrates  with  the  '  Lecho 
Dodi.'  The  choir  chants  '  Ave  Maria/ 
while  my  soul  rings  with  the  mighty 
'  Shema  Yisroel.'  " 

"  Cease,  blasphemer ! "  cried  Nathan. 
"  Thy  father  was  the  priest  of  Prague,  and 
thou  must  worship  the  Crucified  One.  It 
is  written,  '  Thou  shalt  honor  thy  father 
and  thy  mother.'  Hast  thou  not  learned 
in  my  house  what  that  means?  Thou  must 
obey  thy  father's  dying  wish." 

"  I  cannot !     I  cannot !  "  cried  Rudolph. 

"  I  tell  thee  thou  must !  " 

"  Stick  me  into  a  monk's  cowl,"  burst 
forth  the  young  man,  "  make  me  live  a  lie. 
Thou  canst  not  change  my  heart, — I  am  a 
Jew!" 

223 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Nathan  turned  livid,  and  shrank  as 
though  struck  by  a  blow. 

"  Apostate ! " 

The  word  hissed  from  between  his  white 
lips. 

"  I  have  always  been  a  Jew,"  cried  Ru 
dolph. 

"Thou  liest,  by  Heaven,  thou  liest!" 
shouted  Nathan.  "  Have  I  not  taught 
thee,  since  first  thy  lips  could  speak,  to 
worship  the  Crucified  One?" 

"  Thou  hast  taught  me  to  love  the  God 
of  Israel,"  came  the  quick  answer. 

Nathan  stared  with  terror  in  his  eyes. 

"I— I  have  done  that?"  he  gasped. 
"  God,  God,  I  am  a  traitor, — Ferdinand, 
forgive ! " 

Crushed  with  his  agony,  he  sank  help 
less  upon  a  bench. 

The  young  man  fell  upon  his  knees  be 
fore  Nathan. 

"  I  belong  to  thee  and  thine ! "  he  ex- 

224 


A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 

claimed, — "  with  body  and  soul  to  thee  and 
thine!" 

"Cease!  cease!"  cried  Nathan;  "every 
word  thou  utterest  is  treachery  against  thy 
father." 

"Thou  only  art  my  father,"  whispered 
Rudolph. 

"  Thou  lovest  me,  my  son,  dost  thou  not? 
Thou  wouldst  not  bring  my  gray  hair  in 
sorrow  and  shame  to  the  grave?  Thou  wilt 
be  faithful.  Swear  thou  wilt  be  faithful," 
pleaded  Nathan. 

"  Pity  me,"  sobbed  the  young  man. 

"  It  is  for  thy  father's  salvation,"  said 
Nathan,  gently. 

"  Nay,  for  thee  will  I  do  it,  only  for 
thee,"  whispered  Rudolph. 

"  For  his  sake  thou  wilt  be  strong  and 
brave  and  faithful.  Thou  wilt  swear  to  be 
faithful!" 

"  God  help  me,  I  swear,"  moaned  Ru 
dolph,  wearily. 

The  light  of  the  perpetual  lamp  upon  the 

225 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

altar  gazed  with  calm,  unblinking  eye  upon 
this  nameless  woe,  but  the  echoes  in  the 
black  rafters  sobbed  with  the  old  Jew 
weeping  out  his  pain  upon  the  young  man's 
shoulder. 

u  We  shall  suffer,  my  son, — thou  and  I 
and  Rachel,  my  wife  and  the  children," 
said  Nathan,  solemnly.  "  What  matter?  " 
— and  a  strange,  ecstatic  joy  shone  in  his 
eyes.  "  It  is  for  the  repose  of  his  soul — of 
Ferdinand,  my  friend." 

Two  years  later,  the  cathedral  of  Prague 
was  crowded  one  day  with  a  great  assem 
bly,  gathered  to  witness  the  solemn  conse 
cration  of  five  young  men  to  the  holy  order 
of  the  Brotherhood  of  St.  Francis. 

Among  the  people  were  an  old  Jew  and 
his  wife.  With  timid,  pale  faces  they  stood 
meekly,  pressed  against  the  wall.  No  one 
noticed  them,  until,  toward  the  end  of  the 
services,  the  Jew  was  seen  carrying  his 
fainting,  weeping  wife  out  at  the  door. 

"  The  impudent  creatures !  " 
226 


A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 

"  They  are  everywhere !  " 

"  Even  in  church  one  cannot  escape 
them!" 

Such  were  the  blessings  that  followed 
their  exit. 

But  in  the  Jew's  house  that  night  Reb 
Nathan  and  his  wife  Rachel  sat  with  bowed 
heads,  and  mourned  like  those  who  have 
buried  their  best  beloved  child. 

Years  have  passed,  and  liberty  has  held 
a  triumphal  entrance  into  Peltau,  and 
brought  in  its  train  a  new  synagogue  with 
a  fearful  abomination  called  Cantor  and 
strange,  ungodly  ways  of  Sabbath-break 
ing. 

But  few  people  in  the  place  ever  think  of 
Reb  Nathan  or  his  family.  Leah  and 
Hannah  married  years  ago  and  moved  to 
distant  provinces.  A  single  stone  in  the 
little  Jewish  cemetery  marks  the  spot 
where  Reb  Nathan  and  his  wife  sleep  side 
by  side.  Once  a  year  their  memory  is  re- 
227 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

vived,  and  a  few  old  people  rehearse  the 
strange  story  of  their  adopted  son  who  be 
came  a  monk. 

This  is  on  All  Souls'  Day,  when  the  last 
shrivelled  foliage  clings  mournfully  to  the 
boughs,  when  the  autumn  sun  is  mild  and 
mellow  with  harvest,  and  the  earth  yawns 
lazily  under  its  soft  blanket  of  leaves. 

Then  a  pale-faced  monk  appears  in  the 
town.  He  joins  the  people  at  mass,  and 
follows  them  in  their  pilgrimage  to  the 
cemetery.  He  carries  a  lighted  taper  in 
his  hands.  A  wreath  hangs  upon  his  arm. 
Beside  the  tall  marble  cross  which  marks 
the  grave  of  Ferdinand  Ulm,  the  priest  of 
Prague,  he  places  the  wreath  and  the  taper, 
then  kneels  and  prays  long  and  fervently. 
In  the  evening,  when  the  speeding  twilight 
has  trailed  her  hazy  robes  through  the 
roads  and  streets,  he  walks  through  the 
Jews'  quarter.  The  old,  pious  Jews  are  on 
their  way  to  the  evening  service. 

"It's   Reb    Nathan's   Rudolph!"    they 

228 


A  MONK  FROM  THE  GHETTO 

whisper  to  each  other.  Those  that  watch 
see  him  walk  the  length  of  the  street,  enter 
"  the  good  place,"  and  stop  beside  two 
graves  marked  by  a  single  headstone. 

He  places  no  wreath  nor  candle  upon 
them,  nor  does  he  seem  to  pray.  He  only 
kneels  in  silence.  But  when  the  gathering 
night  has  wrapped  him  safe  within  its  hid 
ing  folds,  he  bows  his  head  upon  his  hands 
and  weeps. 


229 


X 

GRANDMOTHER  SPEAKS : 
CHAYAH 


X 

CHAYAH 

Tell  thee  of  olden  times?  Now,  what 
shall  I  tell  thee?  Thou  hast  heard  all  my 
old  Maissele  [tales]  a  dozen  times,  and 
usser  can  you  young  people  of  nowadays 
understand.  A  world  nowadays!  They 
say  it  has  grown  better.  Perhaps.  To  be 
sure,  nowadays  a  girl  has  a  silk  dress  at 
six  years  old,  that  we  got  first  when  we 
were  married;  and  grown-ups  they  are  at 
ten.  My  word,  Mrs.  Cohn's  Mildred  is 
only  ten  and  belongs  already  to  two  clubs. 
And  learning  they  have,  that  God  have 
mercy!  In  my  day  a  decent  Jewish  girl 
learned  to  read  her  prayer-book,  to  cook 
and  knit  and  manage  a  household,  but  now 
adays  ! 

There  is  Rosa  Weinstein.  I  knew  her 
father  when  he  was  a  poor  Bochur  [Tal- 

233 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

mud  student] — she  is  learned,  no  joke  that, 
her  learning!  All  day  she  watches  fleas 
and  worms  and  frogs  and  suchlike  vermin 
and  writes  about  them  in  a  book.  Pui ! 
but  Reb  Weinstein  would  rejoice  if  he 
could  arise  out  of  his  grave  and  see  how 
his  dear  child  Resel  puts  on  a  big  pair  of 
spectacles  and  watches  how  a  cockroach 
wriggles  his  legs !  A  learning  that !  Nat 
ural  geography  or  some  such  name  they 
call  it.  Meshuggas  [madness]  !  As  if  any 
thing  could  be  more  un-natural.  Natural 
is  when  a  woman  has  a  home,  a  husband, 
and  children.  But  these  are  trifles  nowa 
days.  Rather  would  she  stand  in  the 
school-room  and  teach,  "  See,  Kinderlech 
[little  ones],  thus  and  thus  is  the  manner 
in  which  a  pinchbug  scratches  his  ear,  and 
now  take  this  well  to  heart,  that  you  all 
may  grow  up  pious  and  learned  men  and 


women." 


And  how  does  that  come?     I  will  tell 
thee  how.     Nowadays  the  children  know 

234 


CHAYAH 


everything  better  than  their  elders.  If  a 
father  finds  a  good  match  for  his  daughter, 
she  will  say,  "  I  do  not  want  him." 
"  Why?  "  "  I  do  not  love  him,"  she  says. 
Is  not  that  the  purest  nonsense?  In  my 
day  it  was  not  considered  even  decent  to 
love  a  man  before  one  was  married  to  him. 
So  they  go  on,  and  wait  until  they  are 
dried-up  old  maids,  and  no  one  will  have 
them.  Serves  them  right,  too.  What  is 
the  good  of  parents,  if  they  cannot  know 
what  is  best  for  their  children? 

I  also  had  some  foolish  notions  when  I 
was  young, — I  don't  deny  it, — and  that 
came  through  an  acquaintance  I  had  with 
a  Mamselle,  who  was  employed  at  the  pal 
ace  of  our  Count,  at  home,  in  the  old 
country.  She  told  me  so  many  stories  about 
grand  gentlemen,  that  I  thought  I  also 
must  have  one,  and  when  my  father — peace 
be  to  him — made  a  match  for  me  with  thy 
dear  grandfather,  I  didn't  want  him.  He 
was  small,  was  Yaikew,  and  not  handsome 

235 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

to  look  at,  I  thought  (though  a  finer  look 
ing  man  than  my  husband  is  now  one  need 
not  wish  to  see).  So  I  told  my  mother, 
who  rests  in  Paradise,  that  I  didn't  want 
him.  And  dost  know  what  my  mother 
did?  She  slapped  my  face,  big  and  stout 
as  I  was. 

"  Has  anyone  asked  thee  yet  whether 
thou  wantest  him  or  not?  "  she  said.  And 
was  she  not  right,  and  have  I  not  been  a 
happy  woman  in  the  forty-five  years  that 
I  have  been  married? 

We  had  no  trouble  at  all,  for  my  mother 
had  said  to  me,  "  Thou  must  be  patient 
with  thy  husband.  A  man  has  many  cares 
and  perplexities  in  business,  and  if  he 
comes  home  sometimes  cross  and  scolding, 
thou  must  not  mind.  Tis  a  woman's  busi 
ness  to  be  patient  and  hold  her  tongue." 

And  his  mother  also  had  instructed  him, 
he  told  me  later. 

"  Do  thou  be  patient  with  thy  young 
wife,"  she  had  said.  "  A  woman  has  many 
236 


CHAYAH 


worries  and  annoyances  in  her  household, 
and  if  sometimes  she  is  cross,  or  the  pota 
toes  are  a  little  burnt,  or  the  meat  tough, 
do  thou  not  notice  it,  but  be  kind  to  her." 

And  so  we  had  patience  with  each  other, 
and  learned  to  love  each  other,  and  have 
had  a  happy  life  together.  But  nowadays 
they  love  each  other  so  that  they  could  eat 
each  other  up  before  the  wedding,  and  six 
months  thereafter  they  are  tearing  each 
other's  hair  out. 

At  home,  in  the  old  country,  I  also  knew 
a  girl  after  the  fashion  of  nowadays. 
Chayah  was  her  name.  We  lived  in  the 
same  house  with  them  for  years;  we  in 
back,  they  in  front. 

Her  mother  had  died  when  she  was  a 
baby,  and  she  never  liked  Zirl,  their  old 
housekeeper,  but  clung  to  me,  and  used  to 
call  me  Aunt  Mindel  from  the  time  she  was 
ten  years  old.  She  was  the  apple  of  Reb 
Lippman's  eye,  and  if  she  had  said,  "  Tate 
Leben  [daddy  dear],  fetch  me  the  moon 
237 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

down  to  play  with,"  he  would  have  found 
a  way  to  get  it. 

The  teachers  at  home  were  not  good 
enough  for  her,  Reb  Lippman  thought,  so 
he  got  her  one  from  the  city;  and  she 
learned  everything  except  what  she  should 
have  learned,  and  grew  up  with  her  head 
full  of  foolish  notions. 

One  day  I  came  upon  her  as  she  was 
learning  out  of  a  book  wherein  were 
frightful  pictures  of  bones  and  people  cut  in 
pieces,  like  a  calf  in  the  butcher-shop ! 

"  Shema ! — Chayah  Leben,"  I  said, 
"  what  terrible  book  is  that?  " 

"  This,"  she  said,  "  is  a  physiognomy, 
and  it  is  not  terrible  at  all,  for  therein  is 
written  about  one's  liver  and  one's  kidneys, 
and  how  one  shall  be  well  and  healthy." 

"  Wie  haisst?  "  I  said  to  Reb  Lippman. 
"  Is  that  a  learning  for  a  girl,  to  learn  about 
her  inwards?  It  is  not  even  decent,"  I 
said.  "  I  tell  you  if  she  were  my  daughter, 
she  would  also  learn  about  bones,  but 
238 


CHAYAH 


about  the  kind  that  go  into  the  soup-pot," 
I  said. 

"  What  shall  I  do?  "  said  Reb  Lippman. 
"  She  wants  to  learn  those  things." 

"  And  if  she  wants  to  dance  around  on 
the  roof,  will  you  also  permit  that?  "  I  said. 
But  what  did  it  help?  I  might  just  as  well 
have  talked  to  the  wall. 

Thou  must  not  think  that  I  am  of  those 
foolish  ones  who  think  that  learning  is  not 
a  good  thing.  God  forbid!  But  every 
thing  in  its  place.  What  is  the  good,  I  ask 
thee,  if  a  woman  knows  about  her  inwards, 
when  her  children  go  dirty,  and  her  hus 
band  has  to  eat  bad  dinners;  or  if,  per 
chance,  what  is  worse,  she  gets  no  husband 
at  all? 

Chayah  could  have  made  many  a  good 
match,  although  she  had  not  much  of  a 
dowry,  for  Reb  Lippman's  business  was 
going  backward  in  those  days  already. 
She  was  a  great  beauty, — even  envy  had 
to  admit  that, — tall  and  strong,  her  skin 

239 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

like  milk  and  roses,  her  hair  black  as  night, 
and  eyes  she  had,  as  blue  as  the  heavens; 
but  she  could  not  find  a  man  to  suit  her. 

"  For  whom  dost  thou  wait?  "  I  used  to 
say  to  her,  "  for  a  prince  perhaps?  "  But 
she  would  only  laugh  and  say,  "  Whether 
a  prince  or  a  beggar,  I  do  not  know.  I 
wait  for  him  whom  I  shall  love,-"  just  like 
the  girls  of  nowadays. 

So  she  got  to  be  twenty-three  years  old, 
— a  very  old  maid  in  those  days, — and  still 
she  had  no  husband.  Then  my  nephew 
Mordche  wanted  to  marry  her — he  was  a 
step-son  of  thy  great-aunt  Veile, — and  a 
nice  young  man  he  was,  too;  honest,  dili 
gent,  thrifty,  and  no  fool,  either.  He  would 
have  given  his  right  hand  for  a  kind  word 
from  Chayah,  but  she  only  laughed  at  him. 
I  tried  to  persuade  her  to  have  him,  but  she 
said: 

"  Mordche  is  a  dolt !  He  is  just  like  my 
cousin  Bele's  husband." 

"Dovid?"   I  said.     "And  what  is  the 

240 


CHAYAH 


matter  with  him?  Is  he  not  a  good  man, 
and  is  thy  cousin  Bele  not  a  happy  wife  and 
mother?  " 

Then  Chayah  looked  at  me  with  big 
eyes. 

"And  that  thou  callest  happiness?"  she 
said.  "  All  day  he  works  like  a  beast  of 
burden,  and  when  he  comes  home  at  night, 
his  first  word  is,  '  Wife,  is  the  supper 
ready? '  Then  they  eat;  and  when  he 
speaks,  it  is  of  the  hides  he  bought,  and 
when  she  speaks,  it  is  of  Maierle's  torn 
shoes,  or  Voegele's  tooth-ache.  My  God ! 
and  that  thou  callest  happiness?  " 

That  made  me  angry. 

"  Nu,  of  what  should  man  and  wife  speak 
if  not  of  their  children  and  their  business?  " 
I  said.  "  With  all  respect  for  thy  learn 
ing,"  I  said,  "  the  more  thou  learnest  the 
less  sense  thou  hast.  Dost  think  that 
everything  is  written  in  those  books  of 
thine?  I  tell  thee,  life  is  also  a  book, 
wherein  one  learns  what  is  written  in  no 
241 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

other  book,  and  therefore  it  behooves  thee 
to  listen  to  the  voice  of  thy  elders.  Thou 
mayest  live  to  regret  that  thou  didst  not," 
I  said.  But  she  only  smiled  to  herself  and 
said,  kind  of  sadly,  "  Thou  dost  not  under 
stand,  Aunt  Mindel." 

She  was  a  strange  girl. 

We  had  war  that  year,  and  we  Jews, 
nebbich,  were  pestered  and  worried  to 
death.  What  they  did  not  squeeze  out  of 
us  in  taxes,  the  soldiers  ate  up.  For  more 
than  two  months  we  had  a  regiment  quar 
tered  on  us;  every  one  three  or  four,  some 
as  many  as  six  soldiers.  We  also  had  our 
share,  four  common  soldiers.  The  officers 
stopped  with  the  rich  Goyim;  some  of 
them  were  at  the  inn.  My  nephew 
Mordche  used  to  see  a  good  deal  of  these 
officers,  for  he  used  to  get  them  their  hair- 
oil  and  moustache-wax  and  cigarettes  and 
suchlike  stuff. 

One  evening  he  came  to  me  in  great 
anger. 

242 


CHAYAH 


"Why  does  Chayah  run  about  the  streets 
when  they  are  full  of  soldiers?  "  he  said. 

"  Is  it  thy  business?  "  I  said. 

"  Well,  I  cannot  bear  that  these  officers 
should  make  their  filthy  sport  over  her," 
he  said,  and  then  he  told  me  that  he  had 
heard  them  speak  her  name  over  their 
wine,  and  so  he  had  listened. 

One  of  them  swore,  she  was  the  most 
beautiful  girl  he  had  ever  seen  and  that  he 
meant  to  conquer  her, — and  what  the 
wretches  mean  by  that  everyone  knows. 
Then  another  had  said  that  she  looks  like 
those  who  are  not  to  be  conquered,  and 
then  they  had  made  a  wager  of  it, — a  large 
sum  of  money  against  a  horse, — that  he 
would  conquer  the  beautiful  Jew-girl  be 
fore  they  left  the  town. 

Mordche  was  in  a  great  rage,  and  was 
for  telling  her  father  at  once,  but  thy 
grandfather  advised  him  not  to. 

"  Reb  Lippman  has  a  weak  heart,"  he 

243 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

said,  "  it  will  only  anger  him,  and  can  do 
no  good." 

But  I  said  I  would  speak  to  Chayah,  and 
I  told  her  that  Mordche  had  heard  the 
officers  talking  about  her  at  the  inn.  She 
was  much  hurt,  for  she  was  modest  and 
proud,  and  she  said  she  would  no  longer 
walk  on  the  streets  while  the  soldiers  were 
in  the  town. 

A  few  days  later  Reb  Lippman  received 
notice  that  the  soldiers  who  were  quartered 
on  him  would  be  removed,  and  an  officer, 
Baron  von  Hohenfels,  would  come  in  their 
place. 

Thou  canst  imagine  Reb  Lippman's  ex 
citement.  No  other  Jew  had  an  officer  in 
his  house,  and  moreover  a  baron !  What 
ever  there  was  that  was  fine  and  beautiful 
in  the  household,  we  carried  into  the  best 
room,  and  made  it  ready  for  him,  and  in 
the  evening  he  came.  He  was  a  hand 
some  man  of  thirty-five  or  thereabouts;  tall 
and  built  like  an  oak,  with  yellow  hair  and 
244 


CHAYAH 


moustache,  bold  and  jolly,   yet  with  the 
nicest,  politest  manners. 

Reb  Lippman  asked  him  to  what  he 
owed  the  honor  of  so  grand  a  guest,  and 
the  baron  said  that  he  had  grown  tired  of 
that  gypsy  camp  of  an  inn,  that  he  had 
commissioned  the  quartermaster  to  find 
him  a  quiet  family,  so  that  he  might  have 
repose,  since  he  wished  to  study.  He  did 
pack  out  a  lot  of  books,  too,  and  he  began 
to  read  in  them,  but  I  was  uneasy.  That 
tale  of  Mordche's  kept  going  through  my 
head. 

Mordche  was  away  on  business,  and  he 
did  not  get  back  for  a  week,  and  when  he 
came  I  told  him  about  Reb  Lippman's 
grand  guest.  He  wanted  at  once  to  see 
the  man,  so  I  took  him  into  their  kitchen, 
through  the  door  of  which  one  could  look 
into  the  living  room.  Therein  sat  the 
baron  reading  aloud.  Reb  Lippman  had 
fallen  asleep  over  it,  but  Chayah  was  listen 
ing,  and  her  cheeks  were  burning  red. 
245 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Mordche  turned  white  as  chalk  when  he 
saw  the  baron.  £  'Tis  he  who  made  the 
wager,"  he  said. 

I  had  suspected  it  from  the  beginning. 

Mordche  was  wild.  "  Reb  Lippman 
must  throw  him  out  of  the  house !  "  he 
stormed. 

"  God  forbid !  "  cried  my  husband.  "  Reb 
Lippman  must  not  even  be  told.  He  might 
in  his  anger  put  him  out,  and  bring  misery 
not  alone  on  himself  but  on  the  whole 
Gass." 

You  people  who  are  born  in  America 
cannot  imagine  how  it  is  over  there.  An 
insult  to  a  baron,  an  officer!  For  less 
than  that  whole  Jewish  communities  have 
been  plundered  and  murdered. 

Then  Mordche  thought  of  another  way. 
"  I  shall  report  it  to  his  superiors,"  he  said. 

"  Fool !  "  said  my  husband,  "  what  do 
they  care?  And  what  if  the  baron  should 
deny  it?  Whom  will  they  believe,  thee,  a 
Jew,  or  him?  " 

246 


CHAYAH 


Mordche  saw  the  sense  of  this,  and  he 
was  silenced,  but  he  insisted  that  Chayah 
be  warned,  so  I  told  her  what  I  knew. 

Then  one  should  only  have  seen  her. 
"Tis  a  lie!"  she  cried.  "Mordche  is 
vexed,  because  the  baron  is  kind  to  me. 
He  should  be  ashamed  to  talk  scandal,  just 
because  he  is  angry  that  I  will  not  marry 
him.  The  baron  is  a  gentleman,  a  kinder 
gentleman  never  lived.  And  even  if  he 
were  what  Mordche  says  he  is,  does  he 
think  I  do  not  know  what  I  owe  to  my 
self?  His  doubts  are  an  impudence  and 
an  insult ! "  and  off  she  walked  with  her 
head  in  the  air,  like  an  offended  princess. 

What  could  we  do?  Nothing  at  all.  I 
made  up  my  mind  to  watch  the  baron,  and 
I  did,  but  I  saw  nothing  wrong.  Not  that 
I  feared  any  harm  could  come  to  Chayah. 
God  forbid !  She  was  pure  as  snow  and  as 
proud  and  distant  with  him  as  with  every 
one;  but  I  wanted  to  see  what  was  going 
on.  They  were  together  all  the  time. 

247 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

When  she  sewed,  he  sat  winding  her  thread 
upon  bits  of  paper,  and  in  the  evening  he 
read  to  her  out  of  German  books. 

But  after  a  while  I  gave  up  suspecting 
any  wrong.  I  thought  that  Mordche,  be 
ing  jealous,  had  laid  too  much  weight  on 
what  he  had  heard  in  the  inn,  and  that  the 
officers  were  only  jesting,  as  is  the  manner 
with  young  noblemen.  The  baron  was  the 
nicest  man  one  could  imagine.  It  was  not 
possible  to  think  evil  of  him.  Reb  Lipp- 
man,  too,  could  not  say  enough  in  praise 
of  his  noble  guest,  and  Chayah  went  about 
with  an  exalted  air,  like  one  who  has  been 
granted  a  vision  of  Gan  Eden. 

One  day,  when  I  went  into  Reb  Lipp- 
man's  living  room,  I  found  the  baron  hold 
ing  Chayah  in  his  arms.  The  moment  she 
saw  me,  she  threw  herself  on  my  neck, 
trembling  and  crying.  "  He  loves  me, — 
he  loves  me,  and  I  am  to  be  his  wife." 

I  thought  that  I  should  swoon,  but  I 
had  enough  sense  left  to  see  that  the  baron 
248 


CHAYAH 


was  embarrassed  and  angry.  He  had  in 
tended  that  they  should  keep  it  secret,  and 
he  asked  me  not  to  speak  of  it.  I  had 
heard  that  the  Goyim  do  such  things,  but 
I  was  not  used  to  that.  Why  should  one 
keep  a  betrothal  secret?  I  told  it  at  once 
to  Reb  Lippman  and  his  relations,  and  it 
went  through  the  Gass  like  wildfire. 

One  should  only  have  seen  Reb  Lippman 
then.  He  acted  like  one  who  has  lost  his 
senses.  One  moment  he  was  tearing  his 
hair  and  weeping;  "  My  only  child,  to 
marry  a  Goy !  "  and  the  next  moment  he 
would  say  to  himself  as  with  wonder,  "  A 
baroness — a  baroness !  " 

"  Nu,"  I  said  to  my  nephew  Mordche, 
"  what  sayest  thou  now?  " 

"  What  should  I  say?  His  sport  has  be 
come  earnest.  He  has  fallen  in  love  with 
her,"  Mordche  said.  "  But  a  rascal  he  is 
anyhow." 

"  Shah !  "  I  said,  "  thou  art  jealous,"- 
but  I  was  miserable.  What  kind  of  a 

249 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

match  was  that,  a  Gentile,  a  baron,  and  a 
Jewish  girl?  Such  a  thing  had  never  been 
heard  of. 

"  There  can  no  good  come  of  it,"  I  said, 
and  God  knows  I  was  right,  and  Mordche 
was  right,  too. 

This  was  on  a  Friday.  The  next  day, 
Sabbath, — just  as  the  people  were  coming 
out  of  Schul, — there  came  word  that  the 
regiment  was  ordered  to  the  front,  and  by 
dark  the  village  was  empty  of  soldiers. 

Chayah  made  no  outcry  when  the  baron 
went,  but  she  could  not  sleep  that  night, 
so  I  let  her  talk  to  me,  for  I  thought  it 
might  comfort  her.  Far  into  the  night 
she  talked,  and  only  of  her  betrothed. 

"  Thou  didst  not  believe  it,  Aunt  Min- 
del,"  she  said,  "  when  I  told  thee  that  some 
day  he  would  come, — he  for  whom  my 
heart  was  yearning.  But  I  believed  it.  I 
knew  that  God  would  not  put  that  pre 
cious  hope  into  my  soul  and  not  bring  it  to 
fulfilment.  I  knew  that  God  would  guide 

250 


CHAYAH 


him  to  me  if  it  were  from  the  other  end  of 
the  world.  And  I  knew  that  when  he 
came, — whether  Jew  or  Gentile,  whether 
rich  or  poor,  whether  high  or  low, — I 
should  leave  all  else  to  follow  him;  for  love 
is  greater  than  all  else,"  and  then  she  wept 
softly  to  herself. 

It  was  strange  talk;  more  like  a  page  out 
of  the  books  which  the  baron  used  to  read 
aloud,  than  what  a  sensible  person  would 
speak;  but  to  tell  the  truth,  I  wept  also. 
It  would  have  melted  a  heart  of  stone  to 
see  her  in  her  happiness. 

The  next  day  we  began  to  hear  the  can 
nons,  and  frightened  peasants  came  hurry 
ing  to  the  village,  saying  that  a  great  battle 
was  raging  just  above  the  Black  Marsh. 
From  the  moment  the  shooting  began, 
Chayah  was  a  changed  being.  She  walked 
the  floor  like  a  caged  beast;  she  would  not 
eat  nor  rest,  but  she  only  moaned  to  her 
self.  Along  toward  evening  she  suddenly 
gave  a  great  shriek.  "  My  God,  he  is 

251 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

wounded — I  know  he  is  wounded,"  she 
cried,  and  fell  to  weeping  and  wringing  her 
hands.  We  comforted  her  as  best  we  could, 
and  I  persuaded  her  to  go  to  bed. 

Early  next  morning, — it  was  not  yet 
light, — Reb  Lippman  came  pounding  on 
our  door,  crying  that  she  was  gone.  He 
held  a  bit  of  paper  on  which  was  written: 
"  I  have  gone  to  find  him.  I  must  know 
how  he  fares.  If  he  is  wounded,  I  shall 
bring  him  home." 

Nu,  she  was  gone,  and  we  could  but  sit 
down  and  wait.  The  second  day  there 
after  she  came  back.  In  an  open  farm- 
wagon  she  came,  in  which  lay  the  baron, 
and  his  head  was  resting  in  her  lap.  We 
put  him  to  bed,  and  got  the  doctor,  for  he 
was  quite  unconscious,  and  then  we  learned 
all  that  Chayah  had  done. 

Into  the  battlefield  she  had  gone,  into 
the  battlefield,  while  yet  the  shells  were 
splitting  open  the  ground  at  her  feet.  For 
a  whole  day  and  a  whole  night,  far  ahead 

252 


CHAYAH 


of  the  ambulance  corps,  among  the  dead 
and  the  dying,  through  blood  and  a  thou 
sand  horrors,  without  food  or  shelter,  with 
out  help  or  protection,  this  tenderly  nur 
tured  girl  had  sought  him.  And  she  had 
found  him  and  brought  him  out  alive.  He 
was  unconscious  and  bleeding  to  death 
from  a  wound  in  his  side;  and  she  had 
staunched  the  blood,  bound  up  the  wound, 
and  with  the  aid  of  a  peasant  lad  carried 
him  away,  and  brought  him  home. 

It  was  days  before  the  baron  could  even 
speak,  and  when  he  heard  how  Chayah  had 
saved  his  life,  he  wept  like  a  child. 

"  I  was  not  worth  it,"  he  said  again  and 
again,  "  better  I  had  died  on  the  field." 

God  knows,  it  was  the  truth  he  was 
speaking,  but  Chayah  would  kiss  him  and 
stop  his  mouth  when  he  spoke  thus.  She 
nursed  and  fed  and  petted  him,  as  she 
would  a  child.  She  who  had  always  been 
so  shy  of  showing  her  feelings,  now  ca- 

253 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

ressed  and  fondled  him  openly.  She  was 
a  changed  being. 

And  the  baron  also  was  changed.  He 
was  no  longer  bold  and  jolly,  but  humble 
and  sad.  It  was  most  strange  to  behold. 
He  talked  all  the  time  about  how  he  would 
repay  everything  we  did,  and  every  day  he 
begged  the  doctor  to  let  him  go. 

Chayah  was  grieved  that  he  should  be  so 
eager  to  go  away,  but  he  said  he  must,  and 
every  day  he  gave  a  more  urgent  reason 
why  he  must. 

One  day  at  dusk, — I  remember  it  as  if  it 
were  to-day,  we  had  just  lighted  the  lamps, 
— there  came  a  knock  at  the  street  door. 
Chayah  answered.  When  she  returned, 
she  looked  frightened,  still  she  was  laugh 
ing. 

"  There  is  a  strange  lady  outside,"  she 
said,  "  she  is  entirely  mad.  She  says,"  and 
then  she  threw  her  arms  around  the  baron's 
neck  and  laughed  aloud,  "  she  says,  she  is 
thy  wife !  " 

254 


CHAYAH 


The  lady  had  followed  Chayah  and  now 
stood  in  the  door-way.  She  was  a  tall, 
thin  young  woman,  with  a  proud  face,  and 
she  held  a  little  boy  by  the  hand.  The 
baron  turned  white  as  death  when  he  saw 
her. 

"  Pardon  me,"  she  said  in  a  proud  voice, 
"  I  see  I  am  intruding.  We  received  word 
that  you  were  dying.  Your  mother 
thought  that  you  might  wish  to  see  your 
wife  and  child.  I  see,  however,  that  you 
are  quite  well,  since  you  are  at  your  usual 
business  of  deceiving  women." 

With  that  she  went,  but  the  little  one 
hung  back.  "  I  have  a  new  colt  at  home, 
papa,"  he  said,  but  she  dragged  the  child 
away. 

Chayah  had  stared  at  the  baron  all  the 
time.  He  sat  pale-faced  and  guilty.  Then 
she  looked  at  us  one  after  the  other,  with 
a  face — may  Heaven  defend  me  from  see 
ing  such  a  face  again! —  and  then  she 
laughed, — 'tis  the  God's  truth,  I'm  telling 

255 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

thee — she  laughed  and  walked  quietly  into 
her  room. 

Reb  Lippman  had  not  spoken  a  word. 
Now  he  suddenly  dropped  to  the  floor 
like  a  log.  I  ran  to  him;  he  lay  as  one 
dead. 

"  Wai  geschrieen !  "  I  cried.  "  Run  for 
the  doctor.  Reb  Lippman  is  dying." 

For  hours  we  worked  over  him,  until  he 
showed  a  sign  of  life,  and  when  he  opened 
his  eyes,  he  asked  for  Chayah.  I  went  to 
her  room  to  get  her,  but  she  was  not  there. 
We  looked  for  her  all  through  the  house; 
she  was  not  to  be  found.  She  was  gone. 
We  asked  the  neighbors,  but  no  one  had 
seen  her  go. 

May  God  defend  everyone  from  the  ter 
rors  we  went  through  in  the  days  that  fol 
lowed  ! 

They  sought  her  everywhere.  They 
dragged  the  river,  and  sounded  every  well. 
High  and  low  they  sought  her,  and  the 
baron — wretched  scamp  though  he  was, 

256 


CHAYAH 


he  must  have  had  a  conscience,  for  he  sent 
out  a  searching  party  of  his  own. 

On  the  fourth  day  thereafter  they  found 
her.  She  was  wandering  about  the  coun 
try  full  fifteen  miles  from  home,  and  she 
had  utterly  lost  her  reason. 

Nu,  they  brought  her  back.  If  I  had 
not  seen  her  with  my  own  eyes,  I  would  not 
have  believed  that  a  living  being  could 
change  so  in  four  days.  She  was  wasted 
to  a  bone — bent  and  shrunken  and  hag 
gard.  One  would  have  thought  that  a 
woman  of  fifty  stands  before  one.  She 
seemed  not  to  know  us,  but  stared  straight 
before  her,  always  with  frightened  eyes, 
and  when  one  approached,  she  would 
shrink  together,  and  gasp  as  with  terror, 
"  My  God !  My  God !  "  No  other  word 
did  she  speak. 

Reb  Lippman  had  his  death  of  it.     He 
had,  alas,  a  weak  heart,  and  lived  only  two 
weeks  thereafter,  and  Chayah  was  a  for 
lorn  creature,  helpless  and  utterly  mad. 
257 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Woe  is  me !  It  was  a  wretched  business. 
But  so  it  goes  when  children  will  know 
better  than  their  elders.  She  might  have 
been  a  happy  woman.  My  nephew 
Mordche  would  have  given  his  right  hand 
for  a  kind  word  from  her. 


258 


XI 

GRANDMOTHER  SPEAKS: 
OUR  FRIEND 


XI 
OUR  FRIEND 

So  thou  art  going  to  a  Goyish  [Gentile] 
wedding?  Hastu  gesehen — a  Simcha!  I 
.tell  thee  if  thou  wert  my  daughter  thou 
wouldst  go  to  no  Goyish  wedding. 

What — they  are  thy  friends?  How 
knowest  thou  that?  Because  they  come 
here  and  drink  thy  fine  tea  and  eat  thy 
good  cakes?  Shpass,  friends!  I  myself 
have  seen  them  sit  in  the  parlor  and  insult 
us.  It  is  as  I  say — insult  us ! 

"  I  love  the  Jews,"  one  said  real  sugar 
sweet.  Rishus-ponim !  I  could  have 
potched  him.  What  right  has  he  to  love 
the  Jews?  Is  a  Jew  then  like  a  dish  of 
meat,  to  love  or  leave  as  the  notion  strikes 
one?  A  Jew  is  a  man  like  another  man, 
to  love  if  he  be  lovable  and  despise  if  he  be 
wicked. 

261 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

And  another  said,  "  I  also  love  the  Jews, 
though  there  was  a  time  when  I  was  like 
the  rest  of  the  world,  who,  when  one  says 
'  Jew,'  think  only  of  a  man  with  a  big  nose, 
who  cheats  in  business,'5 — and  you  all  sat 
there  and  smiled,  sweet-sour  smiles,  and 
said  nothing.  Had  it  been  my  house,  I 
would  have  thrown  them  out. 

A  world  nowadays !  In  my  day  we  were 
not  so  grand.  The  Jew  did  not  pretend 
to  be  a  social  equal  with  the  Goy.  But  if 
the  Goy  despised  the  Jew,  the  Jew  paid 
him  back  in  contempt — and  with  interest. 
Not  like  you  of  nowadays,  who  stretch  out 
your  face  to  the  Goy  for  a  slap  and  thank 
him  yet  when  you  get  it. 

What  sayest  thou?  They  honor  us? 
They  go  to  the  Temple?  Pui,  an  honor! 
Well,  at  any  rate  there  is  room  for  them, 
for,  as  I  hear,  the  Jews  do  not  go.  And 
why  should  the  Goyim  not  go  to  the  Tem 
ple?  'Tis  a  grand  place  with  soft  carpets 
and  electric  lights  and  saints  painted  on 
262 


OUR  FRIEND 


the  windows.  In  the  loft  a  couple  of 
Shiksahs  chirp  thee  a  merry  Shema,  and 
below  stands  a  shaven  and  bare-headed 
Shegetz,  who  roars  thee  a  lecture  and  cuts 
faces  thereto  like  a  harlequin.  And  what 
does  he  tell  thee?  That  Moshe  Rabbenu 
was  a  liar!  Tis  the  God's  truth, — I  my 
self  have  heard  it. 

There  is  a  certain  book  called  the  Thora, 
— perhaps  thou  already  hast  heard  of  it?— 
O,  thou  hast, — well,  therein  is  written  that 
Moses  told  the  children  of  Israel  that  the 
Lord  had  given  them  the  Ten  Command 
ments.  But  your  Chochem  at  the  Temple 
says,  No ! — the  Lord  did  not  give  the  Com 
mandments;  in  other  words,  that  Moshe 
Rabbenu  was  a  liar.  Why  should  the 
Goyim  not  go  to  the  Temple?  It  is  a 
whole  theatre,  and  it  does  not  even  cost 
them  anything. 

Believe  me,  my  child,  the  Goyim  do  not 
want  us.  To  be  sure,  in  this  country  they 
do  not  trouble  us;  not  because  the  laws 

263 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

are  good,  as  some  people  think.  No, — in 
Austria  the  laws  are  now  also  good,  but 
that  does  not  prevent  my  nephew  Max, 
who  is  a  great  scholar,  from  having  to 
teach  in  a  country  school,  while  young 
empty-heads  get  the  best  positions  in  the 
cities;  simply  because  he  is  a  Jew,  and 
they  Christians. 

Laws — Shtuss!  If  a  Goy  wants  to  in 
jure  a  Jew,  he  will  find  a  hundred  ways  of 
doing  it,  and  yet  not  break  the  best  of 
laws.  No,  here  they  do  not  bother  us,  be 
cause  we  are  not  in  their  way.  It  is  a  big 
country,  and  there  is  room  for  all,  and 
bread  in  plenty.  But  let  it  once  be  here  as 
it  is  in  the  old  country,  where  people  are 
crowded  together  like  herring  in  a  keg, 
and  where,  when  two  sit  down  to  eat,  there 
is  barely  food  for  one,  and  thou  wilt  soon 
see  how7  the  Jew  it  is  who  is  crushed  to  the 
very  bottom,  and  from  whose  lips  the  last 
morsel  of  bread  is  torn. 

Whenever  I  see  a  Goy  making  friends 
264 


OUR  FRIEND 


with  a  Jew,  I  think,  "  What  does  he 
want?  " — and  usually  I  am  right. 

Now  I  will  tell  thee  a  Maisse  that  hap 
pened  to  my  brother  Isaac, — who  is  thy 
great-uncle  Ignatz, — and  thou  wilt  see 
what  I  mean. 

Isaac  used  to  say  that  the  world  is  like 
a  basket  of  onions.  Shake  it  up  as  well 
as  one  will,  by  the  time  one  arrives  at  the 
market,  the  wagon  will  have  jolted  all  the 
little  ones  to  the  bottom  and  all  the  big 
ones  will  be  on  top.  So  it  is  with  people. 
Life  shakes  the  weak  ones  to  the  bottom, 
and  the  strong  ones  rise  to  the  top,  and 
then,  lest  the  bottom  ones  be  crushed  en 
tirely,  they  are  all  shaken  together  again. 

Sometimes  this  shaking  up  goes  slow, 
when  it  is  called  Reform;  sometimes  it  is 
fast,  when  it  is  called  Revolution,  Isaac 
said.  Whether  this  is  true  or  not,  I  do  not 
know;  but  thy  great-uncle  Ignatz  is  a 
learned  man.  He  went  through  three 
schools,  so  it  may  be  that  he  is  right. 

265 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Moreover,  after  the  revolution  in  '48, 
of  which  thou  hast  already  heard,  I  saw 
this  happen  with  my  own  eyes;  when  many 
a  Jew  who  had  been  crushed  to  the  bot 
tom  began  to  rise,  and  many  a  Goy  who 
had  been  great  grew  small. 

Isaac  was  one  of  those  who  came  to  the 
top.  He  had  gone  into  business  with  his 
friend  Jonas  Baer  a  wrhile  before,  but  they 
had  not  done  much.  I  beg  of  thee, — what 
Jew,  in  those  days,  could  do  much?  He 
had  to  be  glad  if  he  was  left  in  peace  to 
earn  a  bare  living. 

But  all  this  then  changed.  The  Jews 
could  do  just  as  the  Goyim;  and  they  did — 
and  better! 

Jonas  and  Isaac  soon  began  to  do  a  big 
business.  To  tell  the  truth,  it  was  Jonas 
who  did  the  business,  for  Isaac  was  always 
getting  cheated.  And  why  was  that?  I 
will  tell  thee  why.  He  had  gone  through 
three  schools,  had  Isaac,  and  so  he  thought 
that  everything  stands  written  in  books, 

266 


OUR  FRIEND 


and  instead  of  looking  about  in  the  world, 
he  always  had  his  head  in  a  book — and  that 
was  his  misfortune. 

Well,  they  soon  had  the  finest  store  in 
the  place.  People  came  from  far  and  wide 
only  to  see  the  show-window.  And  thou 
canst  imagine,  they  soon  began  to  be  great 
folks.  Everyone  was  their  friend;  even 
Goyim  acted  very  nice.  Why  not?  A 
Kleinigkeit — Baer  &  Solomon !  That  was 
no  less  than  if  here  one  now  says  Wana- 
maker. 

Jonas  used  to  laugh.  "  What  do  I  care 
for  the  Goyim,"  he  said,  but  Isaac  was  dif 
ferent.  He  would  talk  thee  a  Megillah 
about  Equality  and  Brotherhood, — one 
would  have  thought,  he  was  reading  some 
thing  aloud  out  of  the  newspaper, — and 
what  he  meant  was,  that  the  Yiid  and 
the  Goy  were  now  alike. 

Yes,  I  know, — there  is  plenty  of  such 
talk  nowadays.  I  myself  often  hear  it, 
from  your  Chochem  at  the  Temple,  and 

267 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

from  others,  and  also  from  thy  own  father. 
But  what  does  it  amount  to? 

One  day  I  said  to  thy  father,  I  said,  "  It 
seems  to  me,  that  tall  Goy,  that  lawyer 
with  the  glasses,  is  making  eyes  at  thy 
daughter.  How  wouldst  like  him  for  a 
son-in-law? " 

Thy  father  turned  pale  as  death. 
"  Rather  would  I  see  her  dead'  than  mar 
ried  to  a  Goy,"  he  said. 

There  thou  hast  thy  Brotherhood. 
Meshuggas ! 

Well,  then,  Isaac  was  all  for  Brother 
hood.  Soon  he  began  to  talk  to  his  wife, 
Malka — who  is  thy  great-aunt  Regina — 
about  moving  out  of  the  Gass. 

"  It  is  not  nice,"  he  said,  "  that  the  Jews 
live  all  together  in  a  heap.  That  is  what 
makes  Rishus.  If  the  Jew  would  live 
among  the  Goyim,  they  would  see  that  he 
is  no  different  from  another  man,  and  they 
soon  would  be  together  like  brothers," 
Isaac  said.  Nu,  gut ! 

268 


OUR  FRIEND 


Now  there  was  a  certain  Christian  in  our 
town, — Johann  von  Pluemer  was  his  name, 
— and  he  was  one  of  the  first  men  in  the 
place.  He  came  from  a  proud  old  family, 
and  they  had  once  been  very  rich.  I  don't 
believe  that  his  father  before  him  had  ever 
spoken  to  a  Jew,  unless  it  was  to  curse  him. 
Of  the  son,  one  could  not  say  that  he  was 
a  Roshe.  He  was  so  high  up  that  he  never 
came  in  contact  with  Jews  at  all. 

One  day  Isaac  came  home,  and  said  that 
he  had  rented  the  ground  floor  of  von  Plue- 
mer's  house,  and  that  they  were  going  to 
move  into  it. 

Malka  nearly  fell  over  with  surprise. 
Thou  canst  imagine — von  Pluemer!  That 
was  no  less  than  if  thy  father  were  to  say 
to-day,  that  you  all  were  going  to  live  with 
Vanderbilt. 

"What,"  Malka  cried,  "von  Pluemer 
consents  to  let  thee  live  in  his  house?  " 

"  Consents?  "  Isaac  laughed,  "  I  did  not 
even  ask  him.     He  asked  me." 
269 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  He  asked  thee!  "  Malka  cried. 

"  Why  not?  "  Isaac  asked.  "  He  is  an 
acquaintance  of  mine.  I  have  had  some 
business  with  him  lately." 

Thou  canst  imagine  the  talk  among  the 
people.  That  von  Pluemer  should  rent 
out  part  of  his  house  was  not  so  strange, — 
it  was  known  that  he  had  lost  much  money 
during  the  hard  times;  some  said  of  him 
that  he  is  a  spendthrift;  some  even  whis 
pered  that  he  is  a  gambler — but  that  he 
should  rent  it  to  a  Jew, — that  would  go 
through  no  one's  head. 

Right  at  the  beginning  my  father — 
peace  be  to  him — was  worried. 

"  What  does  he  want  of  thee?  "  he  said 
to  Isaac. 

"  What  should  he  want?  A  good  tenant 
he  wants,"  Isaac  said. 

"  Yitzchok,  was  bistu  fur  a  Narr !  "  my 
father  said.  "  If  von  Pluemer  wants  a 
tenant,  does  he  need  thee?  I  tell  thee 
270 


OUR  FRIEND 


something  is  not  kosher  there,"  my  father 
said,  but  Isaac  felt  real  hurt. 

"Vater  Leben,"  he  said,  "how  canst 
thou  be  so  bitter?  Because  a  man  is  a  Goy, 
cannot  he  therefore  be  honest?  Von  Plue- 
mer  is  a  noble  man." 

Seest  thou,  my  brother  Isaac  was  such 
a  good  soul  himself,  that  he  could  not  be 
lieve  wrong  of  anyone.  A  child  could  have 
deceived  him.  That,  nebbich,  was  his  mis 
fortune. 

Well,  they  moved  into  von  Pluemer's 
house.  At  first  Malka  was  dreadfully 
proud.  It  was  a  grand  house,  and  stood 
upon  the  hill  where  only  rich  Goyim  lived, 
and  where  no  Jew  had  ever  lived  before, 
but  it  was  not  for  long.  Soon  she  got 
lonesome,  and  she  would  come  to  our 
house  and  cry  her  eyes  out.  We  were  not 
surprised.  What  did  she  care  for  those 
grand  Goyish  ladies?  What  did  she  know 
about  their  christenings  and  their  saints' 
days?  And  supposing  she  had  said  to 
271 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Madame  von  Pluemer,  "  Shabbes  Cholo- 
moed  Succoth  my  Maxl  will  be  Bar-Mitz- 
wah,"  would  she  have  understood  her? 
Usser  a  word. 

"A  life  that,"  •  Malka  would  cry.     "I 
wish  I  were  back  in  the  Gass." 

But  Isaac  liked  it.  Von  Pluemer  treated 
him  like  a  prince.  He  took  him  to  the  inn, 
and  opened  the  finest  wines;  he  introduced 
him  to  all  his  fine  friends,  and  made  a  big 
fuss  over  him.  And  it  was  not  long  before 
Isaac  was  thick  with  all  the  big  Goyim  in 
the  town.  In  the  end  yet  they  chose  him 
into  the  Gemeinderath — what  here  they 
call  the  City  Council.  No  Jew  had  ever 
had  such  an  honor  before,  and  when,  to 
celebrate  this  occasion,  the  Chevra  gave 
Isaac  a  banquet,  to  which  von  Pluemer  was 
invited,  and  to  which  he  came, — my  father 
— peace  be  to  him — said :  "  Von  Pluemer 
at  the  Chevra-Sude!  Now  the  Meshiach 
can  come  right  away."  And  it  was  really 
as  if  the  world  were  turned  on  its  head. 
272 


OUR  FRIEND 


Well,  so  Isaac  was  a  Councillor,  and  hob 
nobbed  with  all  the  big  Goyim.  Thou 
mayest  be  sure  it  made  plenty  of  Rishus 
among  some  of  them,  and  plenty  of  hard 
talk.  Some  even  said  that  Isaac  was  buy 
ing  those  favors  from  von  Pluemer,  and 
paying  well,  too.  But  Isaac  let  them  talk. 
He  went  about  with  his  head  in  the  clouds. 
In  those  days  he  was  a  proud  and  happy 
man. 

Malka  began  to  notice  after  a  while  that 
Isaac  was  getting  rather  close  with  his 
money,  which  he  had  never  been  before, 
and  once  when  she  was  at  our  house  she 
told  us  about  it.  "  I  don't  know  what  has 
come  over  him.  In  two  weeks  is  Pesach, 
and  he  has  not  given  me  a  cent  yet  for  new 
clothes  for  the  children,"  she  said.  We 
said,  "  Perhaps  he  is  busy,  and  has  for 
gotten, — thou  shouldst  ask  him  for  it,"- 
and  she  did. 

"  Is  it  very  necessary  to  have  new  clothes 
now?  "  Isaac  said. 

273 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"Wie  haisst?"  Malka  said,  "Pesach!" 

"Well,  I  am  a  little  short  of  money," 
Isaac  said.  "  Can't  the  old  clothes  do  a 
while  longer?  " 

"  They  can  do,"  Malka  said,  but  she  was 
frightened.  She  ran  at  once  to  Jonas  Baer 
to  see  if,  God  forbid,  anything  was  wrong 
with  the  business. 

"  Nothing  is  wrong  with  the  business," 
Jonas  said,  "  but  with  thy  husband  there 
is  something  wrong.  I  will  tell  thee  why  he 
has  no  money  for  clothes.  It  is  because  he 
gives  it  all  to  von  Pluemer." 

"  Gives  it  to  von  Pluemer !  "  Malka  cried. 

"  Nu,  lends  it  to  him,  but  'tis  the  same 
thing,  for  he  takes  no  interest,  and  never 
will  he  get  a  cent  back,"  Jonas  said. 

Malka  was  terribly  angry.  She  was  not 
one  to  interfere  with  her  husband's  busi 
ness,  but  that  day  she  would  not  be  silent. 

"  Is  it  right,"  she  said  to  Isaac,  "  that 
thou  hast  money  for  von  Pluemer,  and  thy 
children  must  wear  old  clothes?  " 
274 


OUR  FRIEND 


"What!"  Isaac  cried,  "dost  thou  be 
grudge  that  I  help  a  friend  in  need?  "  And 
then  he  made  her  a  speech  an  hour  long, 
and  the  sum  of  it  was,  that  von  Pluemer 
is  his  best  and  closest  friend;  that  with 
him  he  would  share  all  he  has,  as  with  a 
brother;  that  even  if  he  were  not  his  friend, 
still  would  he  honor  him  and  help  him,  for 
he  is  the  kind  of  man  through  whom  would 
come  this  Brotherhood  business  and  such 
like  as  he  was  ever  talking  about.  In  short, 
the  world  had  not  yet  seen  such  a  noble 
man  as  was  von  Pluemer. 

Well,  Malka  had  to  hold  her  tongue,  and 
she  got  no  money,  either. 

One  day,  not  long  after  Pesach,  Malka 
came  running  to  our  house  weeping  and 
wringing  her  hands.  "  Lace  he  wants  to 
make,"  she  kept  on  crying,  "  lace  he 
wants  to  make."  We  thought  she  had 
gone  meshugge. 

"  For  God's  sake,  Malka,"  I  cried,  "  hast 
lost  thy  senses?" 

375 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  Nay,  not  I,  but  he,"  she  cried,  and  then 
she  told  us.  Isaac  had  told  her  that  he 
was  going  to  sell  out  his  share  of  the  busi 
ness,  and  with  the  money  open  a  lace-mak 
ing  factory  together  with  von  Pluemer. 

We  all  stood  as  if  the  lightning  had 
struck  us.  Imagine  it! — a  man  with  a 
wife  and  three  young  children;  a  man  with 
a  fine,  blooming  business,  to  risk  his  all  in 
a  wild  speculation, — would  one  believe 
that? — a  man  who  had  gone  through  three 
schools? 

But  that  is  really  what  he  had  planned  to 
do.  And  he  and  von  Pluemer  knew  as 
much  about  lace-making  as  I  know  about 
tight-rope  walking. 

Well,  we  tried  to  talk  it  out  of  him.  We 
might  just  as  well  have  talked  to  the  wall. 
To  all  that  we  said  he  only  replied,  "  I  have 
promised  von  Pluemer, — so  there's  an  end 
of  it." 

But  Malka  would  not  rest.  She  ran  to 
276 


OUR  FRIEND 


Jonas  Baer  to  see  if  he  could  not  hinder  it. 
At  first  Jonas  would  not  listen. 

"  I  cannot  help  it,"  he  said. 

"  Thou  must  help,"  Malka  said.  "  Is  a 
partnership  then  such  a  loose  thing  that 
one  can  break  it  up  when  one  has  a  mind 
to?" 

"  If  he  does  not  wish  to  stay  with  me,  I 
shall  not  hold  him,"  Jonas  said. 

"  But  I  beg  of  thee  to  hold  him,"  Malka 
cried.  "  He  will  later  come  to  his  senses 
and  thank  thee.  For  God's  sake,  Jonas, 
if  he  should  lose  all,  what  then?  " 

Well,  Jonas  saw  the  sense  of  this.  He 
said  he  would  help  her.  He  and  Isaac  had 
made  a  contract  by  which  they  agreed  to 
remain  together  for  ten  years,  during 
which  time  neither  was  permitted  to  en 
gage  in  another  business.  Only  six  years 
of  this  time  were  past,  so  there  were  four 
more  for  the  partnership  to  run. 

Nu,  why  should  I  tell  thee  a  long  story? 
They  had  a  terrible  quarrel.  They  even 
277 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

went  to  law  about  it.  Jonas  would  not 
yield.  In  the  end  Isaac  had  to  tell  his 
friend  von  Pluemer  that  his  partner  held 
him  to  their  contract,  and  their  lace-mak 
ing  plans  had  fallen  through.  But  that  was 
not  all.  Jonas  also  refused  to  let  Isaac 
borrow  any  more  money  from  the  business. 
He  had  in  a  short  time  overdrawn  his  ac 
count  by  more  than  five  thousand  Gulden, 
all  of  which  he  had  given  to  von  Pluemer 
without  interest  and  without  security.  Jo 
nas  made  up  his  mind  to  stop  this,  and  he 
did. 

From  that  time  on  von  Pluemer  was  a 
changed  man  to  Isaac.  He  did  not  make 
open  enmity  with  him — Shpass!  he  owed 
him  nearly  ten  thousand  Gulden, — but  he 
would  have  nothing  more  to  do  with  him. 

When  they  met,  he  gave  Isaac  a  cold 
nod,  and  made  a  face  like  injured  inno 
cence.  And  as  von  Pluemer  did,  so  did  the 
other  Goyim.  They  invited  him  to  no 
more  wine  parties;  in  the  Council  they  ig- 
278 


OUR  FRIEND 


nored  him,  and  shamed  him  by  saying  bit 
ter  things  about  the  Jews,  and  everywhere 
they  made  him  feel  he  was  not  wanted. 
Isaac  grieved  terribly.  One  would  have 
thought  that  now  he  would  see  what  non 
sense  was  all  this  Brotherhood  business, 
but,  no,  Isaac  never  blamed  the  Goyim. 
They  are  perfectly  right,  he  said,  if  they 
despise  the  Jews.  The  Jews  deserve  all 
the  Rishus  there  is,  and  more.  When  the 
Goy  gives  him  friendship  and  shows  him 
honor,  how  does  he  requite  it?  With  in 
gratitude,  he  said. 

In  those  days  he  was  the  biggest  Roshe, 
and  Jonas,  nebbich,  had  to  bear  the  brunt 
of  it. 

Well,  one  morning  early,  as  Malka  raised 
the  curtains  of  her  window,  she  saw  some 
people  standing  outside,  pointing  and  look 
ing  at  the  house-door.  Isaac  went  to  see 
what  was  the  matter.  There  on  the  door 
hung  a  big  placard  and  on  it  was  written 
this: 

279 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  If  the  Jew,  Isaac  Solomon,  does  not 
move  out  of  this  honest  Christian  house, 
he  will  suffer  the  consequences." 

Malka  came  running  to  our  house  to  tell 
us  about  it,  but  we  had  already  heard  it.  It 
went  through  the  Gass  like  wildfire.  Isaac 
was  white  with  anger,  she  said,  but  he  had 
said  nothing,  and  had  thrown  the  placard 
into  the  fire. 

About  three  days  later  the  same  thing 
happened  again,  only  this  time  the  placard 
was  different.  It  said: 

"  If  the  Jew,  Isaac  Solomon,  and  his 
dirty  brood  do  not  move  out  of  this  honest 
Christian  house,  he  will  get  his  head 
broken." 

Malka  was  dreadfully  frightened.  She 
begged  Isaac  to  move  away.  She  hated 
the  house  any  way,  where  she  had  nothing 
but  unhappiness,  but  Isaac  said,  No, — he 
would  not  be  driven  away  by  such  a  misera 
ble  coward. 

A  few  days  thereafter  there  was  again  a 
280 


OUR  FRIEND 


placard  on  the  door,  and  this  time  it  was 
more  vile  than  the  one  before.  It  got  to 
be  a  perfect  scandal  in  the  town.  People 
got  up  early  in  the  morning  on  purpose 
to  look  at  Isaac's  house-door,  and  when 
ever  there  was  one  of  those  vile  placards 
there,  the  folks  would  be  awakened  by 
shouts  of  laughter. 

We  wondered  and  wondered  who  this 
evil-doer  might  be.  We  tried  hard  to  catch 
him.  Night  after  night  Isaac  and  Malka 
sat  up,  and  one  whole  night  Isaac  stood  in 
the  arch-way  of  a  door  across  the  street 
watching  for  him;  but  on  such  nights  as 
they  watched,  there  was  never  a  placard, 
and  perhaps  the  very  next  night  there 
would  again  be  one. 

At  last,  one  day  Isaac  went  upstairs  to 
von  Pluemer,  and  told  him  that  though  he 
hated  to  be  driven  away  by  the  coward 
who  threatened  him,  still  he  would  rather 
move  than  have  von  Pluemer  annoyed  with 
the  scandal. 

281 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  Nu,  what  did  he  say?  "  we  asked  when 
he  came  down. 

"  He  said  I  should  do  as  I  pleased.  He 
would  not  bid  me  go,  so  long  as  I  wished  to 
remain,"  Isaac  said,  and  then  he  began  to 
rave  again  about  what  a  fine  and  noble 
man  von  Pluemer  was. 

"  Shpass !  noble !  "  Malka  said.  "  Should 
he  perhaps  tell  a  man  to  whom  he  owes 
ten  thousand  Gulden  to  get  out  of  his 
house? " 

One  morning  there  was  again  a  placard 
on  the  door,  and  this  time  it  said,  that  if  the 
Jew  did  not  move  within  a  week  he  would 
be  shot  dead. 

Malka  was  nearly  dead  with  fright,  but 
Isaac  was  not  afraid.  He  had  but  one 
wish,  and  that  was  to  find  the  man  and  see 
him  face  to  face. 

The   next  morning  Isaac  said  he  was 
going  to  Prague  on  business;  so  he  went 
around  and  told  everybody  good-bye,  and 
in  the  afternoon  he  went. 
282 


OUR  FRIEND 


I  went  to  their  house  to  sleep  that  night, 
for  I  did  not  want  Malka  to  be  alone  with 
the  children.  Well,  Malka  and  I  were  sit 
ting  in  the  Stub  knitting.  When  bed-time 
came,  Malka  suddenly  said  to  me  in  a 
whisper. 

"  Mindel,  dost  know  where  Isaac  is 
now?  " 

"  Wie  haisst?  "  I  said.  "  Is  he  not  on  his 
way  to  Prague?  " 

"  He  is  standing  right  outside  of  this 
wall,  in  the  shadow  of  the  door-posts," 
Malka  said. 

I  only  stared. 

"  He  is  going  to  catch  him  who  puts 
the  placards  on  our  door,"  she  said. 
"  I  tell  thee,  Mindel,  he  who  does  it 
has  helpers,  who  keep  close  watch  on 
our  movements.  Perhaps  von  Pluemer's 
drunken  coachman  spies  on  us; — perhaps 
one  of  their  maids  or  even  our  maid — who 
knows?  But  this  is  positive,  that  it  is 
known  when  we  watch  for  the  scoundrel 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

and  when  we  do  not.  So  Isaac  gave  out 
that  he  is  gone  on  a  journey,  but  he  went 
only  as  far  as  the  water-mill.  After  dark 
he  came  back,  and  now  he  is  waiting.  If 
he  does  not  catch  him  to-night,  he  will  go 
away  and  try  again  until  he  catches  him." 

Then  Malka  put  out  the  lights,  and  drew 
from  under  a  bed  a  lighted  lantern,  for  they 
had  planned  that  Isaac  should  hold  the 
man  tight  and  then  cry  out;  whereat 
Malka  would  fling  open  the  door,  and  flash 
the  lantern  upon  them.  The  lantern  was 
wrapped  in  a  black  cloth  that  no  light  could 
shine  through,  and  so  we  sat  down  in  the 
darkness — as  silent  as  death — that  it  might 
appear,  if  anyone  were  spying,  that  all  were 
asleep.  So  we  waited. 

Twelve  o'clock  came;  then  one  and 
two — we  thought  already  that  nothing 
would  happen  that  night,  when  suddenly 
we  heard  Isaac  cry.  Malka  flung  open  the 
door,  and  held  up  her  lantern.  There  we 
saw  Isaac  struggling  with  a  man.  Malka 

284 


OUR  FRIEND 


flashed  the  light  upon  him.  Then  we  saw 
that  it  was  von  Pluemer — yes,  the  noble 
von  Pluemer,  still  holding  one  of  those  vile 
placards  in  his  hand. 

Isaac  uttered  a  frightful  cry  when  he 
saw  him,  and  staggered  as  if  he  should  fall. 
We  had  almost  to  carry  him  into  the  house. 

For  a  long  while  he  sat  like  one  stunned; 
then  he  laid  his  head  in  his  arms,  and  wept 
— wept  as  if  his  heart  would  break.  After 
a  while  he  grew  more  calm.  Then  he  rose 
from  his  chair  and  cried,  "  Pack ! "  "  Pack," 
he  cried,  "  and  let  us  get  out  of  here." 

Well,  we  packed.  Before  it  was  yet 
light,  Isaac  got  some  carters,  and  by  eight 
o'clock  we  had  moved  the  last  scrap  out  of 
that  house.  And  where,  thinkest  thou,  they 
moved  to?  Back  into  their  old  house  in 
the  Gass. 

See,    my   child,    that   was    my   brother 

Isaac's    Goyish    friend.       After    he    had 

squeezed  him  dry,  when  he  could  not  get 

another  drop  out  of  him,  he  threw  him 

285 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

away.    He  wanted  to  be  rid  of  him  as  one 
wants  to  be  rid  of  an  empty  egg-shell. 

What  sayest  thou? — the  carriage  is 
waiting?  Well,  good-night,  my  child; — 
take  good  care  of  thyself.  But  this  I  tell 
thee,  if  thou  wert  my  daughter,  thou 
wouldst  go  to  no  Goyish  wedding. 


286 


XII 
BABETTE 


XII 
BABETTE 

At  first  thought  it  would  appear  strange 
that  everyone  should  know  her.  She  is  so 
modest,  is  Babette;  so  small  and  quiet,  but 
for  all  that  she  has  attractions  for  the  many. 

For  those  who  seek  the  beautiful,  she 
has  beauty  in  her  snow-white  hair,  her  soft 
face,  and  small  neat  figure;  and  those  who 
delight  in  the  quaint,  love  to  look  at  her, 
as  she  wanders  through  the  garden,  in  her 
ancient  dress  of  gray  cashmere,  dropping 
old-fashioned  curtseys  to  every  visitor. 

But  these  are  not  the  attractions  that 
make  her  popular.  No,  to  most  people  she 
is  a  joke.  They  visit  her  in  hordes,  and 
make  conversation  after  this  manner: 

"  How  do  you  do,  Babette?  Well,  how 
goes  it  to-day?  " 

"  Thank  you,"  says  Babette,  with  a  gra- 
289 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

cious  curtsey.  "  It  goes  very  well.  When 
one  is  young  and  healthy,  need  one  com 
plain?" 

The  visitors  smile. 

"Why  don't  you  get  married,  Babette? 
You'll  be  an  old  maid  first  thing  you 
know." 

"  Oh,"  says  Babette  with  an  odd  little 
simper,  "  I  am  young,  I  have  plenty  of 
time." 

The  visitors  grin  broadly. 

"  How  about  your  dowry,  Babette?  Has 
it  arrived  yet?  " 

A  sudden  shadow  of  care  flits  over  her 
soft  face. 

"  No,"  says  she,  sadly.  Then  she  bright 
ens,  "  But  I  am  expecting  it  at  any  mo 
ment.  Perhaps  with  the  next  mail." 

And  then  they  roar  with  laughter. 

It  is  strange  to  think  that  they  laugh.    A 

little  spinster  of  eighty,  pensioner  of  an  Old 

People's    Home,    fancying   herself   young 

and  betrothed,  and  that  she  has  a  fortune 

290 


BABETTE 

coming  to  her — is  that  amusing?  It  is  not 
even  sad.  No,  it  is  beautiful,  only  beauti 
ful;  for  Babette  was  wofully  unhappy  be 
fore  she  began  to  fancy  this;  so  unhappy 
that  she  prayed  she  might  die. 

Then  merciful  Nature  closed  the  eyes 
of  her  weary  soul,  and  now  it  sleeps,  and 
dreams  this  fair  dream,  that  she  is  young, 
and  beloved  of  a  good  man,  whose  wife 
she  is  to  be. 

There  is  but  one  dark  spot  in  this  fair 
dream.  They  are  poor,  she  and  her  be 
loved,  and  they  must  await  the  coming  of 
her  dowry  before  they  can  marry. 

But  Babette  is  hopeful  and  happy.  She 
does  not  care  that  the  people  laugh.  She 
has  long  stopped  wondering  why  they 
laugh. 

'Tis  a  world  of  mystery  any  way,  a  world 
where  the  young  rule  and  the  aged  sit 
aside,  and  where  those  who  break  the  com 
mandments  most  vigorously,  rise  highest. 
What  is  the  use  of  wondering  in  a  world 
291 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

where  wagons  and  cars  run  alone,  and 
where  one  speaks  into  a  box  on  the  wall, 
and,  lo ! — another  who  is  in  the  market  full 
three  miles  away  replies?  That  is,  they 
say  he  replies.  To  be  sure  she,  Babette, 
has  never  heard  him,  but  the  fact  remains 
that  when  one  says,  "  A  pound  of  butter 
and  a  dozen  eggs,"  these  articles  soon 
thereafter  arrive.  She  herself  has  seen  the 
butter  and  counted  the  eggs. 

So  Babette  is  quite  happy.  All  day  she 
wanders  in  the.  garden  or  sits  peacefully 
over  her  knitting.  Only  twice  does  she  be 
come  restless.  It  is  at  nine  in  the  morning 
and  at  three  in  the  afternoon.  These  are 
the  postman's  hours.  Then  she  walks 
down  to  the  garden-gate  and  looks  wist 
fully  in  the  direction  from  which  he  is 
coming,  for  he  it  is  who  is  going  to  bring 
her  fortune. 

It  is  ten  years  since  Babette  first  came 
to  the  Old  People's  Home,  and  those  who 

292 


BABETTE 

know  her  best,  know  hardly  more  than 
those  who  met  her  but  yesterday. 

She  is  like  a  stray  leaf  of  a  forgotten 
book  which  one  might  find  on  the  high 
way.  One  may  read  there  hints  of  a  sim 
ple,  homely  tale;  a  searcher  might  dis 
cover  the  whole.  But  who  in  a  busy  world 
stoops  to  pick  up  a  stray  leaf;  and  who  in  a 
fighting  world  cares  for  a  simple,  homely 
tale? 

"  An  old  servant,  past  work,  and  doting, 
with  not  a  relative  in  the  world,"  the  peo 
ple  say  of  her — and  that  is  all  they  know. 

They  would  probably  wonder,  they  who 
speak  thus,  to  learn  that  Babette  was  once 
a  fair  young  girl  to  whom  one  wrote : 
"  Thy  hair  ripples  golden  like  a  field  of  ripe 
grain  when  the  wind  plays  upon  it;  and 
thine  eyes  are  blue  as  the  corn-flowers  that 
grow  between." 

His  name  was  Luke,  he  who  wrote  thus, 
and  far  back  in  the  days  when  Louis 
Philippe  was  king,  he  wandered  through 
293 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

fair  Alsatia  with  a  knapsack  on  his  back  and 
an  easel  in  his  hand.  And  on  a  summer's 
day  he  came  to  the  borders  of  the  village  in 
the  Jews'  street  of  which  lived  Babette  with 
her  parents. 

There  he  saw  Babette  and  loved  her,  and 
he  told  her  that  he  loved  her.  But  she 
was  a  pious  Jewish  maiden,  and  he  was  a 
Christian;  so  she  smiled  pensively,  and 
wept  a  little;  but  she  wandered  no  more  on 
the  borders  of  the  village. 

And  when  a  year  thereafter  her  mother 
said,  "  Thy  cousin  Aaron  wishes  thee  to 
wife,"  Babette  did  not  say  nay.  He  was  a 
kindly,  plodding  youth,  was  cousin  Aaron, 
and  they  had  been  fond  of  each  other  from 
childhood.  So  Babette  was  well  content, 
and  prepared  her  wedding  fineries  with  a 
happy  heart. 

Then  came  the  year  of  the  cholera, 
which  with  one  blow  cut  down  Babette's 
parents,  her  two  brothers,  and  her  be 
trothed.  Babette  was  stunned  with  the 

294 


BABETTE 

frightful  blow.  When  she  recovered  and 
looked  about  her,  she  found  herself  alone 
in  the  world,  homeless  and  very  poor. 

Then  she  bethought  herself  of  a  distant 
kinsman  who  lived  in  an  eastern  province, 
far  away  on  the  Russian  borders,  and 
thither  she  journeyed.  Uncle  Sigmund,  as 
she  called  her  relative,  took  her  in  and 
made  her  welcome.  At  first  she  pined  as  if 
to  die  with  homesickness;  but  when  there 
are  many  children  in  a  household  and  an 
invalid  wife  besides,  there  is  much  to  do, 
and  soon  Babette  found  no  time  for  tears. 

Uncle  Sigmund  made  an  open  bargain 
with  her. 

"  Do  thou  but  work  diligently  and  faith 
fully,  and  I  shall  keep  thee  as  my  own. 
And  every  month,  God  willing,  I  will  give 
thee  a  silver  dollar.  That  is,  I  will  put  it 
away  for  thee,  that  thou  mayest  not  be  a 
wretched  being,  a  maiden  without  a  dow- 
ry." 

Babette  wept  when  he  spoke  of  a  dowry, 

295 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

but  she  said  nothing  and  labored  faithfully. 

Time  went  by,  and  what  with  youth  and 
health  and  hard  work,  her  cheeks  began  to 
bloom  again,  and  she  laughed  as  she  had 
done  before.  After  a  few  years  Uncle  Sig- 
mund's  invalid  wife  died,  and  Babette  be 
came  sole  mistress  of  the  household.  At 
Passover  she  received  a  pair  of  shoes,  a 
bonnet,  and  linen  for  her  outfit;  at  New 
Year,  a  dress  and  flannel  for  a  petticoat. 
But  there  was  the  silver  dollar  laid  away 
each  month,  and  Babette  was  content. 
And  she  baked  and  brewed  and  made  and 
mended  all  day  long. 

Now,  there  was  a  kind-faced  tailor  who 
came  occasionally  to  fetch  Uncle  Sig- 
mund's  old  coats,  out  of  whose  ample 
breadths  he  made  jackets  and  trousers  for 
the  younger  boys. 

One  Sabbath  morning,  the  tailor  walked 

home  with  Babette  after  synagogue,  arid 

Babette  with  her  strange  French  manners 

gave  him  her  prayer-book  to  carry.     Peo- 

296 


BABETTE 

pie  shook  their  heads  with  wonder,  and 
gossips  began  to  whisper  that  the  tailor 
remains  longer  at  Sigmund  Glaser's  house 
over  a  half-dollar's  worth  of  work,  than  at 
another's  when  he  is  fitting  him  a  new 
frock-coat  of  broadcloth. 

Babette  was  with  Uncle  Sigmund  five 
years  to  the  day  when  she  came  to  him 
hand-in-hand  with  the  kind-faced  tailor, 
saying  that  they  were  fond  of  each  other 
and  wished  to  marry. 

Uncle  Sigmund  had  always  been  counted 
a  gentleman,  but  he  now  became  suddenly 
wild  with  indignation. 

"  Have  I  not  clothed  and  fed  thee  and 
kept  thee  as  my  own?  "  he  cried. 

Babette  said  nothing  of  how  hard  she 
had  worked. 

"  Have  I  not  put  a  silver  dollar  by  for 
thee  every  month?  " 

"  For  my  dowry,"  suggested  Babette, 
mildly. 

297 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  And  now  them  wouldst  leave  my  poor 
children!" 

"  Thy  daughter  Emma  is  already  eigh 
teen,"  said  Babette,  faintly;  but  Uncle  Sig- 
mund  seemed  quite  deaf. 

"  Woe  is  me !  Ingratitude !  Now  that 
my  poor  wife  is  dead  she  would  leave  me 
and  my  motherless  little  ones,"  he  cried — 
and  then  he  wept. 

Babette,  too,  was  moved  to  tears.  She 
kissed  his  hands,  and  promised  that  she 
would  remain  with  him  so  long  as  he 
needed  her,  and  that  she  and  her  betrothed 
would  be  patient  and  wait. 

A  year  passed,  and  Babette  and  the  kind- 
faced  tailor  came  again. 

"  Why  dost  thou  hurry?  Thou  art  still 
young,  Babette,  thou  hast  plenty  of  time," 
said  Uncle  Sigmund. 

"  And  still  we  would  marry,"  pleaded 
Babette. 

"  Now  that  Emma  is  betrothed,  wait  at 
least  till  after  the  wedding." 

298 


BABETTE 

And  after  Emma's  wedding,  it  was  his 
rheumatism,  and  after  that  the  housewifely 
arts  which  the  younger  daughters  must 
learn;  and  each  time  there  was  a  new  rea 
son,  and  each  time  he  wept. 

The  truth  of  the  matter  was  this,  that  in 
the  course  of  years  Babette  had  learned  to 
prepare  her  uncle's  soups  to  just  the  right 
degree  of  spiciness  and  to  darn  his  socks 
without  a  single  knot;  and  though  Uncle 
Sigmund  was  not  a  hard-hearted  man  as 
men  go,  he  loved  his  spicy  soups  and  his 
easy  socks  better  than  he  loved  Babette, 
and  he  trembled  lest  he  lose  them. 

Time  went  by,  and  Babette's  songs  grew 
fainter  over  her  work.  And  when  she 
kneaded  bread,  she  could  not  help  but 
think  how  sweet  it  were,  if  for  her  own 
household  she  were  kneading  it;  and  when 
she  sat  through  the  long  winter  evenings 
knitting  socks,  she  could  not  help  but  wish 
yearningly  that  it  were  for  her  kind-faced 
tailor  that  she  knit  them. 
299 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

After  a  while  the  tailor  moved  to  another 
town.  Then  he  ceased  to  write.  Then 
came  word  that  he  had  gone  to  America; 
and  then  that  he  had  taken  himself  a  wife 
in  the  New  World. 

Babette  gave  her  uncle  not  a  word  of  re 
proach,  for  with  the  years  he  had  grown 
childish  and  ill.  But  the  life  went  quickly 
out  of  her  hair,  the  light  out  of  her  eyes. 
Silently  she  packed  into  the  bottom  of 
her  kist  all  the  household  linen  she  had 
stitched  through  the  long  years;  but  when 
she  laid  among  it  the  pattern  of  a  baby's 
cap  which  she  had  once  cut  out  of  a  paper, 
she  wept  bitterly. 

Babette  now  grew  rapidly  old.  She  lay 
and  trembled  in  the  long  nights,  for  the 
future  loomed  a  dark  waste  before  her. 
Uncle  Sigmund  would  die,  and  she  would 
be  left  alone.  His  children,  whom  she  had 
raised,  were  all  married  and  away.  More 
over  they  were  of  a  strange  kind.  They  ate 
the  forbidden,  and  broke  the  Sabbath,  and 

300 


BABETTE 

they  disliked  Babette,  because  of  a  secret 
fear  lest  their  father  should  remember  her 
too  kindly  in  his  will. 

Then  Babette  would  think  of  the  silver 
dollars  which  lay  in  the  strong-box  for  her, 
and  how  these  would  sustain  her  in  her  old 
age;  and  in  the  dark  sea  of  the  future  these 
were  to  her  like  friendly  harbor  lights. 

At  last,  one  day  Uncle  Sigmund  went  to 
sleep  to  wake  no  more.  Then  came  the 
children  and  grandchildren  to  divide  the 
small  inheritance;  but  Babette  stood  aside. 

When  each  had  received  his  share,  they 
looked  about  them,  and  saw  Babette. 

"  What  shall  we  do  with  Babette?  "  they 
cried  and  shrugged  their  shoulders  and 
lifted  their  eyebrows.  "  What  shall  we  do 
with  her?  She  is  old." 

Then  Babette  summoned  all  her  pride. 

"  I  will  trouble  none  of  you,"  she  said. 
"  Give  me  but  my  money  and  I  will  go  my 
ways." 

301 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"Thy  money!  What  money?  There  is 
no  will." 

"  You  will  find  it  in  the  strong-box, — a 
silver  dollar  a  month — there  must  be  more 
than  five  hundred  of  them.  It  was  to  have 
been  my  dowry,"  she  added  softly. 

At  this  they  put  up  a  great  laugh.  Ba- 
bette  and  a  dowry !  It  was  most  amusing. 

"  Do  thou  but  fetch  a  husband,"  said  the 
eldest,  "  and  as  I  live,  we  will  provide  the 
dowry." 

Babette  could  only  moan  and  wring  her 
hands.  And  again  she  lay  and  trembled 
in  the  long  nights.  Again  the  future 
loomed  a  dark  sea  before  her,  waste  and 
shoreless  now,  the  harbor  lights  were  out. 

Then,  one  long  sleepless  night,  an  awful 
terror  possessed  her.  She  was  too  old  to 
enter  into  a  new  service.  No  one  would 
take  her  for  a  servant.  What  if  they  should 
give  her  over  to  public  charity !  Her  terror 
made  her  bold. 

"  Five  and  forty  years  have  I  served  this 
302 


BABETTE 

house  faithfully,"  she  cried,  "  and  now  will 
you  cast  me  off?  " 

"  For  heaven's  sake,  don't  be  dramatic. 
Who  speaks  of  casting  thee  off?  The  mon 
ey  is  not  here,  but  thou  wilt  be  provided 
for,"  they  cried. 

Then  followed  a  family  council,  where 
each  disclosed  some  untoward  circum 
stance  which  prevented  him  from  taking 
care  of  her.  Babette  waited  with  madly 
beating  heart  until  the  youngest  there, — a 
granddaughter  of  Uncle  Sigmund, — who 
was  married  and  lived  in  America,  said  she 
would  take  her  with  her,  since  servants 
were  hard  to  get  in  the  States.  And  that 
is  how  in  her  old  age  Babette  came  to  go 
to  the  New  World. 

Then  with  fainting  spirit  and  work- 
weary  hands  she  began  again  her  old-time 
labors :  to  tend  little  children,  to  cook  and 
bake  and  mend  and  make.  But  it  was  not 
for  long,  for  after  a  few  years  her  body 
grew  too  weak  for  work,  her  eyes  could 
303 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

no  longer  follow  the  seam,  and  she  began 
to  forget  how  much  yeast  goes  to  a  baking. 

One  day  Babette  fell  ill  and  would  not 
mend  for  weeks.  They  took  her  to  the 
hospital.  When  she  was  better,  her  mis 
tress  came  and  told  her  that  she  had  a  new 
servant,  and  that  upon  her  application  Ba 
bette  was  to  be  admitted  to  the  Old  Peo 
ple's  Home. 

"  A  pleasant  place,  Babette,"  said  she, 
"  where  they  give  thee  meat  and  drink 
without  pay,  and  where  thou  mayest  sit 
with  thy  hands  in  thy  lap  all  day  long." 

Babette  was  dazed  with  her  misery.  The 
dreaded  thing  had  come  to  pass.  She  was 
given  over  to  charity.  She  could  but  hide 
her  withered  face  and  sob  in  the  bitterness 
of  her  woe. 

They  took  her  to  the  Home;  and  the  air 
that  she  breathed  there  was  to  her  as  fumes 
of  fire;  and  the  bread  that  she  ate  was  as 
gall.  For  months  they  thought  she  would 
die,  and  she  prayed  that  she  might  die. 
304 


BABETTE 

It  was  then  that  Nature,  more  merciful 
than  Man,  closed  the  eyes  of  Babette's 
soul,  and  it  fell  asleep,  and  began  to  dream 
the  fair  dream  that  she  was  young  and 
beautiful  and  beloved  of  a  good  man  whose 
wife  she  was  to  be. 

Any  fine  day  you  wish,  you  may  see  her, 
sitting  peacefully  in  the  garden  with  her 
knitting.  Only  at  nine  in  the  morning  and 
at  three  in  the  afternoon  does  she  grow 
restless.  These  are  the  postman's  hours. 
Then  she  walks  down  to  the  garden-gate, 
and  looks  wistfully  in  the  direction  from 
which  he  is  coming.  When  he  arrives,  she 
curtseys  politely. 

"  Have  you  anything  for  me  to-day?  " 
says  she. 

"Not  to-day,  Babette,"  says  the  post 
man. 

"  I  am  expecting  a  fortune,"  says  Ba 
bette. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  says  the  postman. 

"  Perhaps  it  will  come  to-morrow." 
305 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  It  surely  will." 

Then  Babette  rises  on  tiptoe,  and  the 
postman  bends  to  hear. 

"  When  it  arrives,"  whispers  she,  with  an 
odd  little  simper,  "  I  am  to  be  married." 

"  You  don't  say  so !  "  cries  the  postman. 

Then  they  smile  and  nod  at  each  other, 
and  the  postman  goes  whistling  down  the 
street,  and  Babette  goes  back  to-  her  knit 
ting. 


306 


XIII 
THE  BEAST 


XIII 
THE  BEAST 

"  Heir  Doctor !  "  called  a  voice  from  the 
top  of  the  stairs.  "  Quick,  quick !  Old 
Feigel  is  dead!" 

"  Don't  be  a  fool,  Braun,"  cried  Dr.  Da 
vid,  the  superintendent  of  the  Jewish  Old 
People's  Home,  from  his  office  at  the  foot 
of  the  stairs.  "  I've  just  been  in  Feigel's 
room.  He's  eating  his  dinner." 

"  No,  he  isn't,"  shouted  Braun,  in  re 
sponse.  "  He's  sitting  with  his  head  in  the 
pudding  dish." 

This  last  argument  seemed  convincing, 
for  Dr.  David  started  out  of  his  chair,  and 
bounded  up  the  stairs,  three  at  a  time, 
followed  by  a  string  of  the  inmates  who  had 
been  called  from  their  dinner  by  the  unu 
sual  noise.  The  old  ladies,  less  agile  of 
limb,  though  not  a  whit  less  inquisitive,  re 
mained  below  discussing  the  matter. 
309 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 


"  What,"  said  Frau  Braun,  a  buxom  ma 
tron  of  sixty-five,  a  very  infant  in  the 
Home,  "  did  he  say  Feigel  is  dead?  I  don't 
believe  it.  He  can't  die." 

"  I  don't  believe  it  either,"  declared  Frau 
Boshwitz,  who  in  the  prime  of  her  seventy 
years  felt  secure  of  the  Grim  Reaper. 
"That  beast!  He  can't  die!" 

'  You're  right,"  cried  a  dozen  voices. 
"  That  beast  can't  die." 

"  Where  would  he  go  to? "  said  Frau 
Levi,  with  a  shrug.  "  He's  too  wicked  to 
go  to  heaven,  and  they'd  even  throw  him 
out  of  Gehinnom  [hell]  !  "  Frau  Levi  was 
a  cynic,  a  little  dried  up  woman,  who  in  de 
fiance  of  feminine  weakness  declared  she 
was  a  hundred  years  old. 

"  Nu,"  said  Babette,  a  delicate  maiden 
of  eighty,  who  lived  in  the  happy  delusion 
that  she  was  young  and  handsome  and 
courted  by  all  the  good-looking  men  in 
the  home,  "  nu,  he  might  be  worse." 

"  Worse !  "  shrieked  Frau  Neuman.  "  He 

310 


THE  BEAST 


is    the    biggest    Grobian    [brute]    in    the 
world." 

"  I  should  say  so,"  said  Frau  Lieblich, 
who  was  quarrelsome  and  one-eyed  and 
bearded  and  in  every  other  manner  belied 
her  name.  "  Only  yesterday  when  I 
brought  him  his  linen  he  swore  at  me;  one 
should  have  heard  him,  and  he  told  me  to 
get  out  of  his  sight." 

"  Can  he  help  it,  if  he  don't  like  the  sight 
of  a  woman?  "  said  Babette.  "  We  all  have 
our  likes  and  dislikes."  Babette  had  passed 
into  childhood  again  ere  yet  she  had 
reached  the  pessimism  of  old  age. 

"You  needn't  talk,"  said  Frau  Bosh- 
witz.  "  How  long  is  it  since  he  threw  you 
out  of  the  room?  " 

"  You  mean  when  he  was  sick,  and  I  car 
ried  him  his  soup?  "  asked  Babette. 

"  I  see,  you  remember,"  laughed  Frau 
Boshwitz. 

"  He  didn't  throw  me  out,"  declared  Ba 
bette. 

311 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

"  What !  Didn't  he  swear  at  you  and  tell 
you  to  get  out  of  the  room?  "  insisted  the 
old  lady. 

"  Well,"  answered  Babette,  "  should  he 
tell  me  to  take  a  seat  when  he  wants  to 
be  alone?  " 

"  And  he  threw  a  pillow  at  you,"  put  in 
Frau  Lieblich. 

"  That  shows  he  has  a  good  heart;  it 
might  have  been  his  boots,"  said  Babette. 

"Babettche  is  right,"  said  Frau  Levi, 
drily.  "  Judge  a  man  by  what  he  throws 
at  you." 

"  He's  a  beast,"  said  the  other  old  ladies. 

Meanwhile  Dr.  David  found  that  what 
Braun  had  said  was  true.  Old  Feigel  sat 
by  the  open  window.  Outside  the  apple- 
boughs  were  dripping  with  blossoms  and 
bird-notes.  A  soft  breeze  stirred  the  old 
man's  hair.  The  sunlight  gleaming 
through  the  trees  threw  a  shadow  like 
spotted  veiling  over  him.  Budding  spring 
smiled  in  at  the  window,  and  cast  its  warm 
312 


THE  BEAST 


hope  in  vain  upon  the  dead  man.  He  sat 
with  his  dinner  tray  before  him,  his  head 
dropped  forward  upon  his  plate,  his  fork 
clutched  tightly  in  his  hand. 

"  He  is  dead,"  said  Dr.  David,  gently 
raising  the  old  head.  They  carried  him  to 
his  bed  and  left  him  to  the  doctor  and  his 
assistants. 

"  How  did  you  find  it  out?  "  the  old  men 
clamored  of  Braun  when  they  were  out 
of  the  room.  Braun  threw  up  his  head. 
For  once  in  his  life  he  was  a  hero.  "  I 
left  the  table  early,"  he  said,  "and  as  I 
passed  Feigel's  room,  '  Wait/  thinks  I,  '  he 
calls  me  a  new  name  every  time  I  open  the 
door  when  he's  eating.  I  wonder  what 
he'll  call  me  to-day,'  and  I  open  the  door, 
and  there  he  sits  with  his  head  in  the  pud 
ding  dish.  '  What,'  I  thinks,  '  Feigel  so 
far  forgets  a  good  pudding  as  to  put  his 
head  into  it?  The  Fresser!  He  must  be 
crazy  or  dead,'  and  when  he  didn't  call 
me  a  name,  thinks  I,  '  He's  dead ! '  and 
313 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

you  see  I  was  right,"  and  Braun  plumed 
himself  not  a  little  on  his  sagacity. 

"  He  deserved  his  name — a  beast !  "  said 
Schmaltz,  the  philosopher  of  the  Home. 
"  As  he  lived,  so  he  died — with  a  fork  in  his 
hand." 

The  coming  of  the  undertaker  always 
brought  an  air  of  solemn  festivity  into  the 
house.  The  women  put  on  their  good 
dresses;  the  men  began  to  brush  their 
black  coats.  Babette  pinned  a  black  rib 
bon  into  her  Sabbath  cap,  and  wondered  if 
it  became  her  complexion. 

A  death  was  not  an  unusual  or  entirely 
unpleasant  occurrence  in  the  Home.  It 
brought  with  it  some  excitement,  a  pleas 
ant  melancholy,  extra  rations  of  wine  and 
brandy,  and  cups  of  hot  coffee  at  three  in 
the  afternoon.  It  renewed,  indeed,  the 
sad  reminder  that  all  flesh  is  grass,  but  each 
bore  within  him  an  undefined  feeling  that 
some  way  or  somehow  he  would  be  over 
looked  in  Death's  harvest.  Thus,  pleasant- 
314 


THE  BEAST 


ries  as  to  who  would  be  next  were  dis 
cussed  freely  and  with  humor. 

In  the  evening  a  company  of  the  old 
folks  were  gathered  around  Lewin  by  the 
fire.  Lewin  was  the  first  inmate  of  the 
Home.  He  knew  everything  that  was  to 
be  known  about  every  man  and  woman 
there.  At  such  an  occasion  as  this  his 
reminiscences  were  much  sought  after. 

"  I  well  remember  when  Feigel  came," 
he  said  to  his  eager  listeners.  "  It  was 
eight  years  in  the  winter.  A  policeman 
found  him  one  night  lying  on  a  bench  in 
the  park.  He  was  frozen  and  starved,  and 
they  had  to  take  him  to  the  hospital.  When 
he  got  better,  they  asked  him  why  he 
hadn't  gone  to  the  Relief  Society,  and  he 
said  he  was  no  beggar." 

"  Shpass — grossartig !  "  "An  old  hum 
bug  !  "  "  Who  knows  if  he  was  not  some 
thing  worse,"  the  old  people  put  in  sneer- 
ingly. 

"  Well,  he  had  to  come  to  the  Home 
315 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

whether  he  wanted  to  or  not,"  Lewin  con 
tinued.  "  But  talk  about  a  thick  head ! 
Not  a  word  could  they  get  out  of  him.  He 
told  his  name  and  age,  and  that  he  came  to 
Chicago  from  Europe  two  years  ago;  that 
he  couldn't  make  a  living,  and  so  came 
East  again.  But  when  they  asked  him  if 
he  was  married,  or  had  any  relatives,  he 
said  it  was  none  of  their  business,  and  when 
they  said  that  they  couldn't  take  him  in 
unless  he  answered  their  questions,  he  said 
that  he  never  asked  to  be  took  in,  didn't 
want  to  be  took  in,  and  if  they  didn't  want 
him,  they  should  leave  him.  Well,  what 
could  they  do?  They  had  to  take  him  any 
how,  and  to  this  day  they  don't  know  any 
more  about  him.  I  tell  you,  they've  had 
a  time  with  him.  No  one  but  our  Frau 
Doctor  Leben  would  ever  have  had  the 
patience.  From  the  very  start  he  refused 
to  eat  with  us.  The  Chutzpah!  Did  he 
think  we  were  swine?  Had  to  have  his 
meals  in  his  own  room  like  a  prince,  and, 
316 


THE  BEAST 


big  Fresser  that  he  was,  he  was  so  stub 
born,  he'd  rather  have  starved  than  eat 
down  stairs.  Well,  for  the  first  six  months 
one  could  stand  it,  but  after  that  it  began 
to  get  so  terrible,  that  if  it  wasn't  for  the 
patience  of  Frau  Doctor  Leben,  they'd 
have  thrown  him  out.  The  biggest  trouble 
was,  he  couldn't  bear  the  sight  of  a  woman. 
When  the  servant  girl  came  to  fix  his  room, 
he'd  throw  the  furniture  at  her.  Who 
would  stand  that?  The  girls  left  as  soon  as 
they  came,  and  Frau  Doctor  had  her  time. 
She  had  to  hire  a  man  to  fix  his  room. 
There  he  staid  from  morning  till  night. 
Nu,  why  should  I  talk?  You  all  know  it  as 
well  as  I  do.  In  the  eight  years  that  he 
was  here,  not  a  good  word  did  he  have  for 
anyone,  or,  if  he  did,  I  never  heard  it.  No 
one  wrote  to  him;  no  one  came  to  see  him 
or  sent  him  anything,  and  he  never  spoke 
about  anyone  to  anybody.  God  alone 
knows  who  he  was.  He  might  have  been 
a  thief  or  a  house-breaker,  or  perhaps  a 
317 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

Meshummed  [apostate],  who  knows?  For 
my  part,  I  wouldn't  swear  to  it  that  his 
name  was  Feigel.  How  do  you  know? 
Because  he  said  so?  That's  no  sign.  I 
know  what  his  name  was — Fresser  was  his 
name,  and  Beast.  For  the  only  thing  that 
he  liked  to  do  was  to  eat." 

The  conversation  then  became  general, 
and  every  one  had  some  incident  to  relate, 
when  they  had  been  insulted  by  the  Beast. 

"  My  mother  selig  always  said  that  one 
should  not  speak  bad  of  the  dead,"  Babette 
finally  put  in. 

"  Then  we'd  all  have  to  hold  our  tongues 
to-day,"  laughed  Lewin. 

"  He  had  a  good  heart,"  continued  Ba 
bette,  in  his  defense,  "  else  why  didn't  he 
throw  his  boots  at  me?  It  was  only  a  soft 
pillow." 

The  company  smiled  indulgently,  as  one 
smiles  at  the  nonsense  of  a  child. 

"  I  wonder  what  our  Rebbe  [rabbi]  will 
say,"  said  Frau  Levi,  the  cynic.  "  I've 
318 


THE  BEAST 


heard  many  funeral  sermons  in  this  house," 
she  continued,  "  and  for  every  one  he  had 
something  good  to  say.  But  if  he  can  find 
a  good  word  for  Feigel,  I'll  bite  my  nose 
off."  In  Frau  Levi's  case  this  feat  was  not 
so  impossible  as  one  might  suppose. 

"  Really,"  put  in  Lewin,  "  I'm  inquisi 
tive,  too.  Our  Rebbe  is  the  smartest  man 
in  the  world,  but  if  he  can  say  a  good  word 
for  Feigel,  he's  smarter  than  I  think  he  is." 

The  idea  of  the  rabbi's  saying  anything 
good  of  the  "  Beast "  amused  the  com 
pany,  and  they  dispersed  in  great  good 
humor. 

The  day  of  the  funeral  arrived.  All  the 
inmates  of  the  house  were  gathered  in  the 
parlor  around  the  plain  coffin.  A  few  of 
the  Trustees  of  the  Home  were  also  there. 
Dr.  and  Mrs.  David  stood  up  as  chief 
mourners.  Before  them  lay  the  corpse  of 
the  old  man,  yet  every  eye  was  dry.  Sol 
emnly  the  words  of  the  funeral  service  fell 
319 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

from  the  lips  of  the  old  rabbi.     When  it 
was  ended,  he  raised  his  head  to  speak. 

"  Before  us  lies  all  that  remains  of  the 
departed  Aaron  Feigel,"  he  said  in  slow 
and  solemn  tones.  "  In  the  distant  Father 
land  stood  his  cradle.  Here  in  the  Old 
People's  Home  stands  his  coffin.  Between 
them  roll  eighty-six  years — a  sea  of  time, 
a  sea  with  its  high  waves  and  deep  abysses; 
a  sea  with  calm  and  storm;  a  sea  with  its 
ebb  and  tide;  a  sea  upon  which  he  em 
barked  an  innocent  child,  and  in  whose  re 
morseless  tossings  he  was  shipwrecked.  In 
this  small  haven  was  his  last  refuge.  Who 
is  there  here  that  dare  judge  him!  Who 
can  measure  the  sufferings  of  a  life-time, — 
the  bitterness  of  soul,  the  despair  of  the 
heart!  May  God  in  the  better  life  grant 
him  the  peace  which  He  denied  him  on 
earth.  May  He  there  kindle  anew  the 
flame  of  love  which  still  flickered  within 
his  bosom.  For  it  had  not  died,  my  friends. 
320 


THE  BEAST 


In  the  storm  of  his  life  he  bore  with  him  a 
talisman.  It  was  the  warmth  of  his  heart, 
the  strength  of  his  fainting  soul,  the  last 
spar  to  which  he  clung  in  his  shipwreck.  It 
was  healing  balm  to  his  wounded  breast, 
solace  in  his  night  of  despair,  the  last 
link  which  bound  him  to  his  fellow-men. 
Behold,  my  friends,  the  charm,  the  fuel 
which  Kept  alive  the  dying  flame  of  love." 

The  rabbi  stretched  forth"  his  hand.  In 
it  lay — a  baby's  slioe,  a  tiny  tHing  Icnit  of 
wool  that  had  once  been  white,  and  was 
now  turned  yellow  with  age.  It  was  tat 
tered  and  torn,  and  a  Hole  in  tfie  front 
showed  where  a  little  toe  Had  stubbed  it 
through.  The  rabbi  stooped  over  the  cof 
fin,  and  laid  tKe  faded  rag  in  the  deacl 
man's  breast. 

"  Xs  in  life,  so  in  deatfi  shall  it  rest  upon 
thy  bosom,"  he  said  softly.  "  He  who 
maketh  peace  in  His  heavens  high,  may  He 
also  bestow  peace  upon  us  and  all  Israel." 

321 


A  RENEGADE  AND  OTHER  TALES 

The  men  were  wiping  their  spectacles. 
The  women  wept  openly  though  silently. 

"Poor  Feigel,"  sobbed  Babette.  "I 
knew  he  had  a  good  heart,  else  why  didn't 
he  throw  his  boots?  " 


t  Botb 

THE  FRIEDENWALD   COMPANY 
BALTIMORE,   MD.,   U.    8.   A. 

322 


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